Tell Me Why
by Llaisidhiel
Summary: "It was like a light switch." Robin awakens in a morgue, which would be a particularly troubling occurrence on it's own, were it not for the presence of some very familiar characters pertaining to one of her favourite TV shows.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson. (Oh, but do I _wish;_ this show would have received multiple seasons on my account).

 **Author's Note:** So... it has been a while. I think I first uploaded the very original almost ten years ago now. Holy Moses. In any case, for almost a decade this story has refused to leave my mind, and I feel better placed to re-upload and re-write, and all that technical malarkey. Hopefully I will feel better about the nagging of Robin (whom used to be called Molly, I do believe - I did happen upon all the old .doc files some time ago). If any of you are still here, I applaud you - and I've missed you.

* * *

It was like a light switch – the sudden return of my senses – altogether and all at once. I jolted forwards, hitting my head against something hard and feeling a crisp plastic against the tip of my nose; the air, very suddenly, tasted stale, and the darkness I had taken for my room became an immediate threat once my body realised I was trapped _inside_ something. Immediately the only sound I could register was my own heart thundering against my ribcage; with that, I began to breathe erratically. I pushed against the plastic covering hard, hitting my fist against whatever box I was confined to. It felt cold, despite the stale heat of my breath; the bag, to call it what it was, lifted and fell in time to my chest.

"Help!" Screaming was the only other option I had, but already I could feel the tightness in my chest; I was running out of air. I couldn't think appropriately, and the only instinct I had was to get out of the bag, to get out of the box. The harder I hit against the cold walls the worse the tightness became. "Please help me!" I cried, my voice trailing as water began to pool in the corners of my eyes; the dark too became restricting.

In that very moment where I felt the haze grow over my eyes and the fog grow thicker, there was a rumbling as I moved backwards. "Please, get me out of here!"

"Easy!" A male voice accompanied the sound of a zip being pulled down, and all of a sudden there was light, and air, and equally as suddenly the world tilted viciously to its side as I fell and landed on the cold ground with a defiant _thud_.

It was also at that precise moment I realised I was wearing absolutely nothing.

Both hands sought to cover myself; I brought my knees to my chest and pushed myself back against a cabinet – everything felt cold, sharp, raw against my bare skin. The male in question looked at me in utter bewilderment before scrambling off to the side and coming back with a long white lab coat. He gingerly approached and handed it to me. Something close to recognition flashed like a camera light before my eyes, yet it was gone before I could fully capitalise on it. Hastily I donned the lab coat and pulled it closer over me, not trusting the strength in my knees to hold me upright. My heart was still ricocheting; the sound in my ears numbed slightly by the sudden burst of senses.

Where was I? What had happened? Was I in a _body bag?_

The man was still speechless, which gave me more time to scrutinise both him and my surroundings. My stomach, however, had other plans; whenever I made move to shift my gaze or my limbs, it turned several times like a spinning wheel and I swallowed heavily to stop the bile rushing to my throat. "Thank you," I croaked out, tugging at the scratchy material. With my head pounding, all I wanted to do was close my eyes, but the fear of confinement had very quickly been replaced by that of the unknown – not only had I woken in a body bag; I was in a morgue, and I had absolutely no recollection of how I got there. "Where am I?" My voice was raspy, but he heard all the same; he flurried himself to grab a file attached to the end of the table I had been laying on.

"Los Angeles," he responded, his eyes darting quickly between the pieces of paper he clutched and myself. I knew I should naturally be feeling self-conscious, but I was terrified, and all the energy I had was spent on my brain trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together – and to unveil just why this man was startlingly familiar. However, the moment he spoke, my stomach dropped. The lump grew larger in my throat and my hands stretched and recoiled with uneasy haste.

"No," I shook my head, clinging again to the coat. "No, I'm not. That's impossible. You're wrong." The pounding was becoming worse; the noise in the back of my head louder. The lights were too bright. I trembled, graduating fast in to unbearable shivers. My stomach knotted again, this time with comprehendible severity. I heaved.

The man very quickly grabbed me a makeshift sick bowl. He seemed to sniff at the air as he handed it, leaning in perhaps a little too close without breaking eye contact. The air stilled for no more than a second before he was back to hovering. "You're a Jane Doe." He was still clinging to those notes; desperately, I reached out for answers, but with each infliction upon my vocal chords the bile threatened to rise higher.

"Robin," I gasped, clutching the bowl to my chest. "My name is Robin!" I closed my eyes, desperate to numb the pounding above my eyes. My throat burned. "Who are you? Where am I? Please tell me this is not real." I could think of no-one who would play such a cruel trick, and indeed if they had, how they would have carried it out. With my eyes closed I could see the rain cascading over the windshield and the wipers working overtime to clear the screen. There was a rush of traffic to my right, and a blinding flash from roadworks somewhere ahead. Traffic was slow, but I had been heading home – I _knew_ I was going home. So how…

The thought made the lump well and I heaved again; I detested throwing up, least of all before others, but I felt stripped of all dignity and self-preservation, sat on the cold ground with nothing but a lab coat to hide my honour.

"You're in a morgue… I work in the morgue. You shouldn't be alive. You came in –"

He did not get to finish. Despite the familiarity of this man, the one who waltzed in to the room as if it were commonplace was even more so. Though my vision was blurry, the dark soft waves and distinctive long black coat sent my heart racing once more.

"Hey, Mick," he barely glanced at his friend, though it took very little time for the newcomer to see me, too.

"Guillermo, what –"

God, he even _sounded_ like him.

There must have been an accident. I must have been unconscious. Yet the reality was staring me very intensely in the face, and the sickness swirling in my stomach was too paralysing to be false. I never had dreams like this. I had never been a deep sleeper, and even if there had been an accident…

"She just woke up. Screaming, from one of the units, but by rights she should be dead. She's been in there hours. Came in earlier today."

Mick was looking at me now, and I knew he could hear my heart racing. I flushed from embarrassment that was very quickly overturned by something else. The claustrophobia I had inherited as a child reared itself like a terrifying monster; clumsily I scrambled to my feet and pushed my way past the stone golems staring with open mouths and made my way unwieldly through the door. My hair stuck fast to my face as I made my way to the hallway; I could hear voices trailing behind me, but my only goal was the outdoors. It was strange, that before I could never have imagined running mostly unclothed through any building, be it morgue or otherwise, but least of all bursting through a door right shoulder first to be greeted with the dusky, half-hidden moonlight on to an alleyway at the edge of a busy street.

The noises were alarming; cars driving, people hollering from a local at the opposite end, the inconsistent passing of bass from somewhere far off. Lights from murky, unattended streetlamps flashed unreliably. The sick bowl fell to the floor and the thud, though the quietest sound in comparison, grounded everything else.

Or normal enough – the people… the _characters_ in there. Their names, their faces. The God-damned clothes they were wearing.

"Oh God, please…" I felt the tears stinging my eyes as I turned frantically in circles. I didn't know where to go. I didn't know how to get _out_. My head knew precisely where I was, but it also knew it was impossible. My body screaming and the pounding in my head recognised without any uncertainty I was not dreaming, yet it felt horribly out of place.

I grabbed at the lab coat, pushing myself against the far brick wall opposite the door just as someone came out of it. No, not someone – some _ones_.

"Robin… that's your name, isn't it?" Mick extended his hand, though it was intended, or so I assumed, as a comforting gesture and not as a 'please take this now'. I did not know if I would have, though a small part of my mind that was not consumed with the cold and the sickness thought that possibly if I grabbed his hand the rest of the world would vanish. I needed it to. The young girl who had spent many hours watching and re-watching their faces on screen felt a strange ease of comfort and shameful excitement; the adult, nine years older, was stubbornly grounded in reality. She was a newly qualified teacher, not a dead girl. Not a character.

I barely moved; it was not my intention to be rude, but the sight of his face and the closeness the two exhibited towards me was making my mind race and my heart pound desperately against my chest. It was going to break out, I was absolutely sure of it.

"Robin, just take a deep breath and come with me. We can figure this out. We can help you. Just come inside, and we'll find your things and get you home." He was being kind, but it was not going to be that simple. I didn't even know where home was here. Home was some five thousand miles away. My little apartment, my friends, my students. None of them were here. Mick stepped closer. Guillermo stood by the door, his own eyes never leaving mine. I couldn't keep still. The world was getting smaller with each second that went past faster than I had time to breathe.

His voice and my name were the last things I heard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

 **Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this and thank you to 'treavellergirl' for the review; you can have one of the many cookies I just made. I'm sorry this took a while (really, I have no excuse, as the next fifteen-odd chapters have already been written). I'm just the best at procrastination. Further apologies if this one seems a little choppy; the integral parts of the story get going in the next part, for sure.

Reviews will get their very own Josef Kostan, because quite frankly, he terrifies me.

* * *

I had not recalled a dream so vividly for so long, I imagined by some extent that I simply did not dream at all, but when I opened my eyes, blinking away the blurry residue, I could see very clearly in my mind the crystal-like eyes and sharp teeth staring back at me in the burnt, chipped mirror.

The blanket I was shrouded in offered minor protection against the onslaught of memories fast approaching; the hypnotising dalliance of the flames before me seemed to bring them all back. Yet unlike before, my heart did not race at the remembrance of familiar faces; there had to be better ways of approaching it other than running off half naked with no idea where I was or where to go.

Gingerly, I pushed myself up. The blanket slipped down my shoulders as I did; beneath, I was wearing a stripped button-up shirt and underwear – or shorts. Neither of them was mine. Swallowing nervously, I glanced about my person. The space I was greeted with felt familiar too. In fact, I knew it was – I knew the apartment from many nights of binge-watching on repeats and wearing out DVDs, if that were at all possible. I had no doubt that my sixteen-year-old self would have felt a proud sense of accomplishment at such a feat had the aforementioned incident occurred.

There was no vampire to greet me this time. At the thought, turning and testing the word over in my mind, my stomach bubbled quite unexpectedly. The idea was comical. It could not be real, and yet here I was. I thought myself ungrateful, and considered that I should be at the very least elated, to make the best of a bad situation, but my mind was still reeling as the memories of the morgue came back to me; I was ever more desperate to find out why I had woken up there, and how, and indeed how I had travelled so far across seas to another country – and another reality. A reality that had its place in a television show, not the real world. Most certainly not my real world.

If I was here, it was uncomfortably clear that I was here to stay. Remaining away from the vampires seemed like the ideal solution until I figured out a reason, and a way home. Catching a plane seemed like a sensible resolution, however if they did not sound the same over a phone call –

My eyes darted around immediately, falling upon the short corridor a little way off my left, behind me which I knew – again, the bubbles piqued in trembling excitement – led to Mick's office. Sunlight streamed unapologetically through the uncovered windows, I reasoned he had to be asleep. Or out. Either way I was alone, and tendencies aside I knew I had to capitalise on this before the situation changed.

Whilst I was decisively more clothed than before, it remained incredibly surreal to be walking around Mick's apartment, and his office no less as my feet graced the threshold. I could feel the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck bristle. It was exact – placement for placement – even the filing cabinet with the tell-tale folder glistening with information any rightful fan-child would give their right arm to see. Almost. Nothing was worth mine right now, though I was no longer aware now much dignity I had left to protect. All I needed was the phone, a comforting call, and everything else could fall in to place quite nicely after that.

In a swift, rushed movement, I reached the edge of the desk and picked up the receiver, cautiously dialling my parent's home number with the (or so I hoped, as I had little reason to outright dial America from home) correct extension. All the while, with each ring, I trained my eyes on the so-far empty corridor. The dials stretched, seeming to echo in the quiet apartment. I was terrified he would hear, then terrified at my own reasoning. I had no reason to be afraid of Mick. I just had to convince everyone I was sound enough to be left alone so I could figure out just what had happened.

"Hello, Megan Caulfield speaking."

Up until that point, from the moment I had awoken in the morgue, there had been a dangerous pit in my stomach swirling wildly with fear and apprehension; with those four words, the uplifting chime of my mother's voice washed it all away. I felt tears instantaneously, and I swallowed them back. I had not cried in my mother's arms for years, but at this moment I truly felt it possible, even if it was simply down the phone.

"Hi, Mum," I breathed.

"Robin! Hello, sweetheart – is everything okay? I don't recognise the number." Her astuteness made me smile through the unwanted pain in my chest. She was on the ball with everything; a true attentive mother.

"I'm just at a friend's. I just wanted to ask you something," I was not entirely sure what, of course, and I was most definitely not confident in how I would word my unusual request. "Are you well, Mum? And Dad?"

I knew I sounded shaky; even though I felt I could lie through my teeth if the occasion called for it, I had never been skilled and keeping things from my parents. They could read me like the expression says – a very clear, open book.

"We're both good, Robin. What did you want to ask? I hope those students aren't giving you too much hassle, love."

"Students?" I pressed gently – if I were a teacher here, it would give me some platform to work from. My details had to be stored in the school; all of my background information included.

My stomach lurched as she sighed; it was still uneasy, and it added to the list of things I desperately sought to clarify. "I know being a teaching assistant was not what you wanted, but it's a job, at least until next year, and then you can do what you love. You could always do it here, Robin…"

I closed my eyes and steadied myself against the desk. A teaching assistant. I had gone from a teacher to an assistant – though there was absolutely nothing wrong with either – I had to ask myself why this had occurred. "Do you have the correct details for my school, Mum?"

I heard rustling on the other end and I just knew she was searching her phonebook without even responding first. I smiled. A single tear brimmed just over the edge of my eye and trickled downwards. Infuriated, I wiped it hurriedly away. "The Los Angeles City College, right? Unless you've changed again, sweetheart; I just want you to be happy out there whilst you find your feet." I held the phone to my chest for the few moments I allowed to digest the information. College. Assistant. Was that the equivalent of assisting at University level? I knew so little about the academic formalities in America, and I knew that was something I would have to change. I could teach, however, or look at transferring to a secondary – no, high school.

Returning the receiver to my ear, I exhaled. "That's right Mum. Thank you. Listen, I have to go, but I promise I will call soon."

"All right, love. Is there anything else?"

Ah – _crap_. Indeed, there was. I silently chastised myself for being so foolish and forgetful. "You have my correct address too, right?" As she reeled off the address I scribbled it on a loose sticky note, my palms sweating profusely. It was not even warm in here; in fact, if anything, it was below comfortable temperatures.

At least I knew why.

We said our goodbyes and I gratefully returned the phone. Clasping at my sticky note, I moved around the office and returned to the sofa in front of the intriguing fireplace. I could not even call it one, really, but I had never seen anything quite like it – which probably spoke volumes for my pay packet as a student before I began something marginally more comfortable.

I sat, staring at my handwriting. I had an address. Everything I owned would be there. It was simply a matter of returning to said address and putting more of the pieces together. Unfortunately, it dawned on me in those few seconds that I would need to ask Mick for help in getting home; I prayed that he had bigger things on his mind than solving the mystery of a girl and he would not think nor look too much in to it. Equally so, I had watched the show enough to have a fairly confident grasp on his character; whilst not as tenacious as Josef, there was no way I would get out of this so easily.

I knew that he would be able to see the number on his call logs (if he presided over such small details), but I did not have time to worry about it. With any luck (and it seemed I had something of a smidgen of it thus far), he would barely notice I had moved, and I would be able to recite my address and claim total ignorance. It was, for a brief moment, a considerably fool proof plan, until the niggle of anxiety bestowed upon me during adolescence blinked like a flashlight, and I glanced immediately over my shoulder.

 _Did he have security cameras in his office? Was he watching me – from his freezer?_

The air caught suddenly in my throat again and the world around me blurred. Frantically I blinked, digging my fingers in to the bare flesh on my upper legs; the pressure drew pain immediately through my uneven nails. Begrudgingly I looked to the fire, one of few staples I felt of Mick's unique penthouse; the movement of the flames I looked to calm the sudden rise of panic. This it did, for a short while, until the door clicked open behind me and I jumped, scrambling to my feet and almost doubling over the coffee table.

Mick approached cautiously, his hand outstretched again with his keys still in hand. There was something else, too, clutched in the fist of his other hand; my stomach lurched as I saw the dirty chain and the tarnished bat. "I brought you here to rest. You passed out," the door closed behind him and he lowered his hand as his feet stepped precariously forwards. Instinctively, I shuddered backwards. I was having a hard time focusing my gaze on his face, not on the vial of blood.

The world around me was becoming smaller again, and I knew that if I did not react fairly quickly I would pass out again.

Of course, the lack of sustenance might have had something to do with it.

"I just want to go home," I swallowed, trying to avoid addressing the fact that I was undoubtedly wearing his clothes. If he wanted them back that much, he could wait outside until I had finished changing. "I remember my address. Really, I'm fine – I just need food, and sleep." Something told me he needed a bit of both. The vial in his hand told me enough about what was happening and, roughly, where he had been. I very much so wished to have some clarity myself when he went to the funeral.

Mick fixed me with a quizzical gaze. I could tell he did not believe me, but that was none of my concern. I could deal with the reality of Moonlight as soon as I found my feet – I just was not sure how long that would take. The further away I established myself from Mick, however, the better. "I can take you home, but we need to find out what happened to you. Now, I don't want to frighten you, but you were in a morgue, and they said you drowned."

I could not remember. There was no way for me to respond in a way that would satisfy his PI senses. The entire situation felt reminiscent of Life on Mars, and although that particular show had aired a full year prior to Moonlight, the two could not possibly be interlinked. That would mean I had been in an accident, that the real me was not possibly alive –

 _But I am alive. I_ feel _alive._

"I'm fine. I'll remember. And even if I don't, I promise I will take myself down to the station to figure it out. I just want to go home." I could barely plead worth an inch whilst sane, let alone in my current predicament. The assertiveness I had embraced whilst teaching would have been incredibly useful had I been better clothed – a fact I was still trying to ignore.

Even though I knew he was both unsure and not wholly willing, Mick nodded. He spoke briefly about not having anything else to dress me in, and I just as suddenly ushered the conversation onwards as I approached the door. I was still unsteady on my feet, and the sight of the hallway sent shivers down my spine. Righting myself, I pushed my hand off the wall and hugged the shirt tighter around myself. He offered me a coat but I politely declined. If I got too close, I would not want to let go – and I had to. As fascinating and enthralling as the world was, Moonlight was also an indisputably dangerous one.

Sitting in Mick's car was another whirlwind all together. I clutched at the corners of the seats as I saw in my mind Beth and Mick and their countless conversations. The lump grew thick and heavy in my throat. What would I say to my friends now?

 _Did I have any friends here?_

I considered this, as Mick drove to the address I had given him. I supposed all the questions I had would be answered as I got inside, but still something felt incredibly uneasy.

I didn't even know what day it was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

 **Author's Note:**

Reviews will be given red and silver confetti from the opening night return to London of Jim Steinman's Bat out of Hell the musical, because I had front row seats, was sat in the 'splash zone' and somehow managed to collect plenty of the aforementioned items in my clothing. This show has my heart. (I have absolutely not seen it three times now).

I am genuinely apologetic for how long this took, and immensely grateful for the reviews and the follows and favourites. I tried to make Robin appear British in her language, and the characters American, but I'm sure I muddled a few words up somewhere. I'll post the next chapter very soon, I promise.

* * *

Stepping back in to the morgue was an utterly terrifying experience. As much as I heavily desired to turn and run in the opposite direction, I knew I had to be here. In the past two days since Mick had delivered me to 'my' apartment, gingerly handing me a flimsy sealed plastic bag containing a damp purse, a necklace and a set of keys dutifully attached to a very sorry looking Lego keyring, I had managed a trip to the college, completed a day's work, very nearly crashed headlong into Daniel – spluttering a plethora of apologies and barely managing to look him in the eye whilst doing so before I scuttled frantically off in the wrong direction and had to sheepishly backtrack round – and had subsequently discovered the date of the funeral, which was to be held early afternoon tomorrow. So, despite my grievances that Mick would barely have the time to consider my whereabouts or my empty promises, I had to find out what had happened to me. That meant coming here.

My heart was solidly placed in my throat, and I had to remind myself with each step to breathe in a comfortable rhythm. That of course was easier said than done; having to navigate the clinical halls, keeping my head down as I passed sickly-looking men wearing mucky scrubs made my stomach churn too. I could not even push my hands in to the depths of my coat pocket, for I was certain it made me look smaller – indeed, smaller than I was, for I was incredibly petite for my age – and most definitely more suspicious, even though I had declared my intentions at the reception desk – tentatively tasting the name on my lips as I blabbered out that I needed to see Guillermo and _where would he possibly be please it was a family emergency_. Cringing, knowing full well what a terrible liar I was, I persevered down the dimly-lit corridor in search of the poorly labelled 'morgue 2'. At least, the ratty looking teenager who was most definitely playing Minesweeper on the age-old desktop _sounded_ like that was the right one.

Once I found the correct door, I counted to three before opening the door and stepping inside. There was not a lot of time to think – Guillermo turned around the very moment I took four paces inside, and there was a pregnant pause whereby the tension circulated indisputably; I swallowed nervously as I recalled that this vampire had most _definitely_ seen me without any clothes on and had been privy to my adventures to the PI's apartment. The two spoke – he had to have been.

"Hello," he filled the silence eventually, covering the body he had been leaning next to. His staple clipboard was held in one hand, the other leaning against the table.

"I, uhm – " Truthfully, I had prepared numerous speeches, numerous excuses and numerous explanations. None of them felt it pertinent enough to make themselves known now and I bulked at even the simplest of words. "I just needed to clear up what happened. And say sorry."

Guillermo nodded. "You don't have to clear up anything. Mick and I took care of the technical side." He paused, and I felt an immediate rush of gratitude towards this stranger yet was equally as perplexed as to why he would have gone out of his way to hide this information. Was I not something to be scrutinised, or did his clients regularly wake up and run out? "Why are you sorry?"

I was not entirely certain myself, but it had at the time felt incredibly important that I should apologise for something. "For scaring you. I can assure you I had no intention of drowning, or indeed waking up here. I'm just not entirely certain what happened."

He nodded, went over to a locked filing cabinet and after opening it with a key proceeded to pull out a thin file. "You can give this a read. It's everything I gathered and the information that came when you were brought in." Being mindful not to touch his hands out of some twisted paranoia he would immediately be able to read my mind, I gratefully took the file.

"How will they not be looking for me? A body they pulled out of the river?" Even saying the words sent shivers down my spine. I _had_ to find out what had happened to me, even if it meant treading a very fine line alongside cast members that could very easily snap my neck like a toothpick.

There was, or had I imagined it, the very smallest hint of a smile. Even amusement. "Mick is very clever at what he does, and I like to think I am too. I swapped some details around and fortunately everyone is far more focused on the recent killing at the fountain to worry about someone they considered to be suicide."

I felt that unease creep back again and was overwhelmed by an uncomfortable warmth. _Warmth? In a morgue?_ Carefully I pried the file open and scanned the first page with displaced urgency before I was interrupted. "You can take it home."

"I – thank you. For this." I swiftly pressed it in to my bag.

"Be careful." He said as I walked back towards the door. He was back to lifting the sheet off the body before him. I turned cautiously and could not help my brazen lack of filter.

"Because apparently there are vampires running around now?" I knew he understood it as a joke, and ordinarily it was precisely the kind of comment I would make, but I had meant it selfishly, my nature forbidding me from leaving anything alone as it should be. The look that passed over his face would be miss-able to anyone who did not know what they were looking for, but I did, and although I imagined that it would give me a blind sense of satisfaction it in fact did the complete opposite; I was caught in the crosshairs and I felt almost unbearably guilty.

* * *

Much like my closing comment the day before, I did not have to be at the funeral. Not one individual, colleague or otherwise, would have batted an eyelid; in fact, I was fairly certain that Christian Ellis was the only teacher from the college who had made the effort to show. I kept my head down throughout the service, sticking to the middle; sitting at either the front or the back would have drawn further attention to myself, and if I opened my mouth I most definitely stuck out like a sore thumb.

Chloe sat apart from Christian, Daniel and the 'study group' in the church, but she was unfortunately sandwiched beside them as the coffin was lowered in to the ground. I immediately saw Beth, indisputable with her blonde trademark waves and her large black sunglasses. My own hair blended well with the rest of the guests, but I still felt my heart in my throat as I caught Mick out of my peripheral vision. I was better leaving them to it; interfering would be detrimental to the plot, and I was nothing if not a loyal shipper, as it was once called, of them both.

I knew immediately that it was a mistake being here; I had no idea who Kelly was, or if I had ever met her, and I sought to keep my distance from the pair I presumed to be her parents lest they began making rounds and thanking individuals for coming. I could make up some excuse – yes, she was an excellent pupil, a key hard worker, a pleasure to teach – but it seemed easier just to point them in the direction of Christian, who no doubt knew her on a far more _intimate_ level than the rest. I shuddered, keeping my eyes focused on the priest and swallowing the lump of bile that rose uncomfortably afterwards; despite my efforts, and having every best intention available, I had been unable to keep food down all day.

"Kelly was a bright and promising student, and we all mourn her loss."

A few girls began to weep as the priest spoke, and I distinctly saw Beth raise her phone to take a picture. Christian, out of the corner of my eye, was keeping his head down and his hands clasped before him. Daniel looked eerily disinterested, like he was trying too hard to appear sorrowful – though I did not wish to credit him in any way, he did not look the slightest bit suspicious, which was something I no doubt believed he considered an achievement, as he was the one who killed the girl about to be lowered six feet under.

Of course, I considered that time could be saved – and indeed Chloe could be, if I strolled up to Mick's car and revealed that Daniel was the one he was after and that Christian, as slimy and arrogant as he was, was no killer.

As the crowd dispersed, I lodged myself safely behind Christian and his disciples. I suppose I _could_ have stopped Chloe, but quite frankly Ellis deserved it. Despite knowing that it would happen in a matter of seconds, the moment Chloe lashed out I jumped backwards and crashed in to a young girl. She was dressed entirely in black, which for a funeral would not be inadmissible, but her makeup – right down to the lipstick she emitted a scowl from – was black too. It was unnerving to look at, if only because she was one of them, and that meant she no less than breathed for him.

"Sorry, sorry…" I blurted, swiftly turning back around and stumbling forwards towards the scene; as Daniel grabbed her, something fell from her pocket, and amongst all the commotion she had not noticed. As she hastily threw a "shut up!" in Daniel's direction, I made a beeline for where they had been stood. The girl I had crashed in to had barely acknowledged my discrepancy and had instead hurried to the side of the newly injured teacher, as his harem looked immediately concerned as to his well-being. It was incredibly cringy.

In a small footprint of mud was a set of tarnished keys, perhaps three at most, and a bat keyring not unlike the one found at Kelly's apartment – though without the distinguishing vile of blood. I swiped them and began brushing the dirt off. In the distance, Mick was busy talking to Beth, and Chloe had wondered off in the opposite direction – and it was in this one with which I set my sights on.

 _What on Earth are you doing, Robin?_

I should have just stayed at home. I had no business here, short of vainly attempting to assert myself as a member of the community that cared; that was normal back home, though as I began to power walk past the PI's car I began to acknowledge that customs were entirely different here.

"Chloe?" I called out, once I was a comfortably safe distance from where the prominent characters stood. Thankfully, for now at least, Christian and Daniel had made off in the opposite direction. She did not stop, instead waving me off offensively without even looking behind her. I sighed, took a deep breath, and began to jog to catch up. "You – I think you dropped your keys."

With this she did halt. I stopped beside her, belittling myself for not paying more attention to my own fitness and making a non-verbal agreement to better that as soon as I found out where the nearest gym was. "Thanks," she muttered. Her eyes barely lifted to meet mine as she took them from my outstretched hand; the sharpness of her nails caught the bare skin. "I recognise you," she continued. My heart definitely skipped a few beats then, and I was suddenly increasingly aware that at any moment Mick could drive past.

 _School. That is all. Just school._

She pinched the bridge of her nose and stood a little more level on the pavement. "You were in one of our classes. With him." She raised her head in a motion that inclined the direction behind us. I tried not to let the horror pass over my face, but I was a truly incapable liar. Undoubtedly this made me one of the worst people to end up like this.

"I move around classes a fair amount. I'm not due back in that one, though. It was very last minute." Thank _God_ I was overly attentive with my planner; the same Kikki.K planner I purchased annually at home had gratefully made its way here.

"You were nice." Chloe added. She seemed both eager to get away and equally as desperate to talk. It was not the kind of vibe I received when I watched the upcoming scene with her and Beth, but then the aforementioned blonde was indeed a reporter. It proved a little easier when the individual you were talking to was not doing so simply to write an article and cared little for those involved; I knew it would be fruitless to explain that Beth very much so cared about the people she wrote about, but they had not even met yet. "I know he had something to do with it. And he's going to get away with it." She scowled again, tongue playing with the piercing on her lip.

I braved a look behind me; Beth stepped away from the car and Mick seemed to steady his hands on the wheel. Hurriedly I looked back. "If he did, you know he won't get away with it. I'm pretty sure there's a PI on the case, too."

She scoffed at that. "Yeah, right. If the cops can't figure it out, then some phoney won't be able to either." Chloe rolled her eyes. "He feeds them all this bullshit about sex and vampires and dark desires, and they totally buy in to it. It's not right. He shouldn't even be teaching. Nobody should let him near kids," there was a pause, and I stood awkwardly, moving only to let a pedestrian pass. I was not entirely sure what to say, or indeed what I could do; the guilt would have been everywhere had my body not been bristling at the thought of the vampire finding out where I was. I just _knew_ he would see me and facing the girl who would later die the following evening made me feel even worse. I was refusing to do anything to save her life, knowing that Mick's desperation would lead him to save Beth on time. If I intervened, prevented her from dying, Mick would not find the body – and he would probably be interviewing her whilst Beth was being taken…

No, I _had_ to let it happen. It was the right thing to do, was it not?

"I can keep an eye…" No sooner had I begun talking, Chloe's demeanour seemed to change. She threw her hands in the air like a teenage tantrum and turned away from me.

"Forget it. I've got to get to work."

As she left, the distinctive convertible Mercedes slowed beside me just as I knew it would. I grimaced before turning to him and watched uneasily as he leaned over. "What are you doing here?" It could have been rude, but the tone was very soft, if not impressively curious. It was definitely challenging to be both without coming across as conceited.

"I taught her," I offered. At least that was an answer I could give without lying. "Well, half taught. I'm an assistant teacher at the college." Mick nodded, as if he knew this piece of information already, and I could not even pretend to be surprised. "As for Chloe, I picked up her keys. She dropped them when she attacked Christian."

That seemed to intrigue him. "Can I give you a lift to my office? I'd like to ask you some questions. No, don't worry –" He must have seen my expression falter, and no doubt heard my heart beat erratically for a few short moments. "Guillermo told me you stopped by. That's not why – I just want to find out if you knew anything about Kelly, and maybe why Chloe attacked him."

I could hardly say no, but I knew that I could not trust myself to be near him. As much as I desperately wanted to refuse I found myself back in the passenger seat of the car, clutching the side of the seat he could not see until my knuckles turned white.

"You don't like my driving?" He could joke easily enough. I cracked a smile.

"No, your driving is fine. I've only ever been in an almost-accident once, and it wasn't my fault. I'm sure people say that all the time, but it really wasn't – I was driving, and someone turned the wrong way down a one-way system. I had to emergency stop, and a car went in to the back of me. Only slightly." Not enough to cause any further damage other than a replacement licence plate; still, it would be a little ridiculous on my behalf if my appearance at the funeral was not all ready testament to that, for me to tell him that I simply felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest every time I saw him. "I just get car sick. Quickly."

That seemed enough to quell the conversation somewhat until he reached his apartment building. He offered the occasional small-talk and the promise to take me home again afterwards if I needed it; I was fairly sure if it was still light out, I would be more than happy to walk back; the drive had not been that long the last time.

Mick unlocked the door to his office rather than his apartment, but as he held the door for me to follow I saw that the adjoining door to his personal living space was wide open. "Stay there, for a minute." I didn't need to ask why, or wait, or stare awkwardly at the cabinet containing Beth's personal file.

The offending individual waiting for Mick came to us.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

 **Author's Note:** A thousand apologies, more than I can offer. This chapter serves as a filler, but it is the last one, I promise. My exams are over for the year, and I have a small break before I begin preparations for my last year of Uni. Teaching, here I come! I'm sorry if there are any visible errors. I could probably use a BETA, to be fair; someone should really give me a nudge every so often to remind me to get writing! Next chapter will be up by the end of the week, which is an interesting one, for sure. Thanks for sticking with lil ol' me! If anyone picks up on the Deadpool reference, I promise to write you in to the story.

Reviews will be taken out for a romantic stroll.

* * *

 _I need a drink._

Josef Kostan set his beady eyes level with my own, even though he had a good few inches against my petite 5'1. Two sensibilities warred with one another in my head; one fought to retain eye contact, persuading that it was best to appear tall and strong regardless of the notable height difference. The other begged to look away; so desperate was the pleading that somehow the vampire before me would _know_ what I was and what I knew, I found myself digging my nails viciously in to the palm of my left hand.

 _Silly, uninformed little teenage crush._

There was nothing remotely enticing about the very real, very domineering Josef before me. I was afforded little more than a curt nod and a forced curling of the lips, but it was enough to beat a drum behind my ribcage. If they both noticed, which of course they did, neither of them afforded me the slightest indication. Perhaps that was considerably worse. I swallowed nervously, loosening and tightening the pressure on my palm with unnerving precision.

He appeared to gracefully spin on his shiny black shoes as he turned towards the door. "Think about what I said earlier." he paused in the doorway. "Come by with your answer. I have a much wider selection of refreshments than you appear to."

When he left, without so much as a proper goodbye (honestly, did they ever actually say farewell in the show?), it occurred to me that he had not introduced himself, nor asked my name. Not that he should have to; naturally the vampire's temperament centred around his severe distaste for anything 'human', unless they were stick thin and in provocative clothing, or he had a legitimate need to do business. I blinked, pinched the bridge of my nose and turned towards Mick, gingerly steadying myself on the chair the PI motioned to.

Mick was actually smiling.

"He's an old friend." He sat himself down, moving a few stray papers to a drawer. "Don't worry." I wanted to point out that the phrase 'old friend' probably was not the most accurate word to use, particularly as the age difference was more than noticeable to anyone with a brain cell.

"You wanted to talk about Kelly." The sooner the conversation was had, the faster I could retreat back home. I had every intention of keeping my head buried in my covers and not leaving until the episode was well and truly over – and then some. Chloe would die tomorrow night and despite the position of power my knowledge placed me in, there was nothing I could do to change that. Mick and Beth had a happy ending, or near enough – Josef didn't die, Sarah Whitley was still comatose, and Guillermo and Logan were perfectly capable of existing without my intervention.

"Yes – you said you knew her." I didn't sense Mick's disbelief, but I hastened to hide my own. The only confirmation I had that I had been anywhere near Christian's class was a single post-it note in my planner, and Chloe's observation that I had been incredibly 'kind'.

"I had a cover lesson once for Christian's assistant, Daniel. Not that I had to do much; I think with specialist subjects like the exclusive classes Christian runs, being an assistant teacher falls rather flat. They are all there to listen to Ellis – not some short, unpredictable Brit who doesn't understand how American football works." I grimaced slightly, though was fairly confident my misunderstanding came from a believable place. Mick chuckled. "Kelly and Chloe used to be best friends; Chloe even encouraged her to join Christian's classes."

"How did you know that?"

"Another part of being a teacher assistant, particularly at this level of education, is that you often fade in to the background even if you are helping students with their work. They talk over you, as if you aren't even there – and young influential girls are very fond of gossip." I moistened my lips gently, shifting my weight in the surprisingly comfortable chair. Was this the very same one Irene had sat in? "The two had a falling out, and after that things got particularly heated. Kelly filed a restraining order against her former friend, and shofar as I know, the two never spoke again."

He raised his eyebrows at that, seemingly pleasantly amused at the turn of events. Both he and Beth would soon find this out from multiple sources, so I didn't feel bad, nor did I feel any kind of misplaced guilt at giving the storyline a little nudge in the appropriate direction.

"A restraining order? Was there that much tension between the two at school?"

I shrugged, forgetting myself momentarily. It was easy and had to be some part of the enthralling vampire magnetism Mick exhibited that created an aura of calm impossible to resist. Stubbornly, I ground my teeth. "I wouldn't know – sorry." I offered a weak smile; painfully aware my heart was giving away so much more of my nervousness than I was comfortable with. "I only heard what I know through other students. The girls liked to talk about the falling out as if it were some big spectacle. The restraining order was filed by campus police, and Chloe stopped coming to school after that. At least," I added hurriedly, racking my brain to try and remember if anything was misplaced, "I never saw her around after that. She made a show of blaming Christian once after school hours, but nothing came of that, either."

Mick adjusted himself, and I scrutinised him carefully. He was impossible to read. "The Professor has quite the harem." He spoke with a lightened air of bemusement. I would have laughed too, of course, had the idea not been so revolting.

"I'm sure his wife is positively thrilled to take a backseat with her husband's illicit affairs." I could not hide the disdain; it dripped thickly from my tongue as I spoke. He was slimy, cocky and far too full of himself. All three went hand-in-hand – it was impossible to settle on any particular one for him, however. "Try and speak to him. He has an infuriatingly particular way with words, but he also isn't used to anyone standing up to him. He also thinks he's a vampire, if that helps." As I said the words I watched Mick carefully, more so than I had been doing. He betrayed nothing but a natural flicker of amusement. "For what it's worth," I added slowly, "I'm not sure he would have the time to kill anyone. He's an arrogant sod, but he's also a coward." Nobody ever stood up to him, so he walked around acting as if he had control of everything and everyone purely based on that alone. The fact that girls fell at his feet was in large part due to his hypnotising way with words; preying on the weaknesses the young, vulnerable girls who were desperate for approval who then gave themselves to anyone who offered them the time and care.

Mick, however, appeared to have taken it all in without so much as scribbling a single word on to a scrap of paper. It was not the first time I had been alone in such closed quarters with the vampire, but the practice steadily eroded the nervousness I felt. Despite this, the paranoia was strong in the back of my mind and would soon spread defiantly like damp unless I found a way to be complacent with my new living arrangements. Additionally, discovering how I had ended up with my lungs full of dirty water and understandably dead was an increasing concern, one that I knew Mick would take it upon himself to uncover had he not already done so as soon as he had the time.

* * *

I did not want to go home after leaving Mick's apartment, but I had little elsewhere to venture. Beth was off on her little investigative journalism to Christian's class, Mick would later visit the Professor, and tomorrow night everything would change for them both – and I _had_ to stay away from it. I wandered for a bit, familiarising myself with the sights and streets that branched between the PI's place and my own; a mere twenty-minute walk if I paced myself, and I had an obtuse feeling that I would be a frequent visitor to the complex. Something stirred unhelpfully in the pit of my stomach, and I furiously dug my hand in to the depths of my bag to forage for change. I did not particularly want to eat, but the necessity was there.

As I continued my walk, bacon wrap in hand, I passed a bookstore. It was not something that easily stood out in the row of brick buildings, bustling with customers and pedestrians alike; the paint had chipped away to reveal the startling red beneath and the sign that hung precariously above the store creaked, audible only if you stood directly beneath it. The sounds of the traffic numbed out the rest, and the lights that flashed and bleeped routinely as people crossed the road distracted from the tiny store. Still, it was less the store itself, and instead the poster stuck on the inside of the window that caught my attention – and the woman balancing several hard copies on the far side of the glass.

 ** _Wronged Man_**

 _The true story of Lee Jay Spaulding, as told by Julia Stephens._

A lump solidly formed in my stomach. Very suddenly, the bacon wrap became ashes in my mouth and I folded the paper bag around it; without even looking, I dropped the food in to a bin on the corner of the street before uneasily moving towards the poster. Julia was still talking away to a shop assistant. I did not know whether to scream or run away, or just gently approach her and compliment her on her bravery. Being engaged in such an intense conversation would have given everything away, however, and already I was doing a poor job of covering up just who I was staring at.

His eyes on the cover were haunting, yet they did not betray his innocence. He was an expert speaker, liar, and all around diligent professional at getting precisely what he wanted. He was positively basking in the glory on being on the front cover of a book, and not because it was a huge accomplishment, not even because it was his ticket out of jail – but because Mick would see, Mick would be furious, and Lee Jay knew that. I did not want to be a part of that particular storyline, but I was deftly worried that if I did not keep a close eye Beth would not uncover the truth about the enigmatic PI, and goodness knows what would occur should that not occur.

"Are you interested in the book?" Julia was incredibly bright-eyed for someone publicly defending a known criminal. She seemed both proud and equally as desperate to speak to anyone who showed the slightest interest in the biography, determined to show just one more person he was more than the media made him out to be. Nodding, aware that only part of me was lying, I turned properly towards her. People pushed past on the small pavement, so with natural instinct the two of us huddled closer to the window.

So much for keeping _away_ from things. "He is rather fascinating," I offered; to her delight, my words brought an impossibly natural smile. The stress immediately began to melt away and I just as instantly felt sorry for her. She had so little idea what this man truly wanted, and it was painful to watch her vagrant enthusiasm. "Did you write this?"

Julia nodded, still smiling. "The book launch is in two weeks, just as he's getting released. I can't wait to show people what this man is really like; he's set up a program to help kids who are at risk become involved in art as a way to channel their frustrations. It's incredible." _And also, a ruse,_ I thought, grimacing as I swallowed. "I'm trying to make sure all the local bookstores have these posters up. People need to know the truth about him." I peered at the pile in her arms, surprised to see they were not copies of the aforementioned book, but flyers stacked on top of a fair few titles I did not recognise. Books on art? Self-awareness? He'd use them as toilet paper.

"I'll definitely give it a read when it comes out." Once again, my words held little evidence of a lie. I _would_ most likely read it, and what fan would not? I had to have been here for a reason, and even if it were an incredible coincidence, I could easily make the most of opportunities given so long as they did not pose any threat to myself or the characters. There was no real benefit from doing so, aside from personal indulgement.

That, however, afforded me brownie points. Julia fished around in her own bag before producing a flimsy white ticket with golden writing sprawled across in cursive script. "Here, there's two. Please come along. It will be so nice for Lee Jay to see all the support when he gets out of prison." I held the tickets with nervous uncertainty; not entirely convinced I was cut out for this, I safely deposited them in my bag.

"Thank you – of course I will be there. I really appreciate the tickets." I was curious as to why she had handed them out to a random stranger, but she continued to talk passionately about _support_ and how important it was that people did not believe _everything_ they both saw and read in papers and how utterly _innocent_ he was. I could not openly disagree, of course – I was not confident I would attend the book launch, but if I did, I needed to at least appear supportive, and steer clear of the drama that would ensue.

Julia lightly squeezed my arm before saying goodbye, and I was left standing awkwardly not knowing precisely which direction to take next. It was particularly foolish to think characters existed only when their staple episode was taking place; Julia would be all over the city and the news in the upcoming weeks, and Beth only just remembered they were friends as it were convenient?

 _Well,_ I thought, straightening myself as I headed towards home, _that's just lazy writing._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

 **Author's Note:** And here we… go! Truthfully, I'm unhappy with how this turned out. I'm fairly sure that I've messed up some of the American/British vocabulary, but I've tried.

Reviews will be invited along to see the Rocky Horror Show, on stage, on New Year's Eve.

* * *

The damp breeze hit against my pale cheeks, and strands of hair clung furiously to my eyelashes as I walked at a decisive pace towards the diner. It had become dark fairly quickly; though there were few clouds in the sky, the few that did exist saw fit to shadow the moon in a way that would have been incredibly amusing had it not been for the events currently unfolding.

 _Shame_ , I thought, fiddling with the pockets on my shorts, _the past twenty-four hours had been pretty good._ I considered my prior commitment – namely to myself more than anyone else – that I would dutifully avoid the devastation tonight that unfairly befell Chloe, but the guilt that knotted and tightened like a snake had slithered its way in to my consciousness not three hours prior. I had met her, spoken to her; my hand had brushed against her own when I returned her keys. How was I supposed to stand idly by and allow a human being to die when I had the potential to stop it?

I knew that my mother's worriment would pose an issue if she found out what I was doing. Harping on about how a TV show I religiously watched nine years ago was suddenly very real would have me dragged back home, which would not have made the blindest bit of difference to what was now my reality. With that in mind, it would be equally as impossible to inform her that I was currently marching my way to a potential murder scene, with no idea how to stop said aforementioned murder or indeed how to deal with the assailant. I had such little upper body strength; years of attempting to learn even the simplest of self-defence mechanisms that came from a sensible mindset of living alone had proved rather fruitless; I had a slender frame, very little muscle, and paired with my height I did not exactly _look_ like a twenty-five-year-old.

As it had from that first call less than a week ago, something tugged at my heartstrings at the thought of her. Megan was a doting mother and an incredibly charming woman, but she often thought too much of others, chastised herself for it, and then dispassionately thought of herself in a vain attempt to level it out. Naturally I was biased, but I loved her and Dad and Dinah, our erratic little ragdoll, and I was miles and miles away from them, incapable of seeing their faces or enjoying the warmth that only company with close family can bring. Perhaps that was why I saw fit to try and save Chloe. _She_ had to have a family. Just because the family I had grown up with had been taken from me, did not mean I could force the same on those who did not deserve it. If I was here for a reason, I had to at least _try_ and make a difference, and I was certainly old enough now not to cower in a corner like a petulant child and expect the world to feel sorry for me because I was, in every sense of the phrase, 'out of place'.

I did not have so much of a plan as I did an idea. At least, a vague understanding of what I would _like_ to occur, but the probability of that was incredibly low, and I had not yet thought of a back-up plan. Somewhat infuriated with brashness, I pulled my hair in to a ponytail and stretched out my fingers. The entire situation was absurd; I should have called the police. The consideration of calling Mick had been perhaps the briefest thought thus far; there was absolutely no way to tell him that Chloe was in danger, or for him to get there sooner without making myself in to even more of an enigma. Of course, if this panned out the way I assumed – ridiculously, of course – he would find me anyway. Preferably intact. Maybe I was having dinner. Perhaps I was checking on her myself, worried about her behaviour after the funeral.

 _Every single possibility even more nonsensical than the last._

There was no way to get out of this without another talk being had in his office. Either way, be it now, several episodes later, or at the end of the series, _something_ would give. The folder Guillermo had given me still sat at the bottom of my desk drawer; perhaps out of some childish naivety, I refused to look, though deep down I knew it pertained nothing so frightening that Guillermo had not been able to reassure.

Even as I approached the diner, I had yet to formulate a plan. Still, at least I was still fully aware of my own stupidity, and not blind to how hairbrained I had become. As soon as my eyes found a lone, considerably worn vehicle in the carpark, I shuddered. To my right, distinguishable only for its own solitude, was yet another vehicle; it was parked so unevenly, half propped on the curb, it could easily have been mistaken for something abandoned. Perhaps that had been a marginal oversight on Daniel's behalf; parking it beside the diner would have drawn too much attention, especially in the event of the security cameras actually operating as to their purpose but parking it so carelessly not even too far down the road – near enough for me to see it as I approached – definitely drew more attention.

The eerie blue light from the diner glared hauntingly; each of my footsteps seemed to echo throughout the vacant space, though they were far quieter and indeed impossible to be anywhere near as noisy as that of the traffic down the road.

I was stupid – _this_ was stupid. And if I failed, then what? Mick had no idea I was coming, and I was foolish enough not to disclose any information to him. Additionally, he was not arriving for quite some time, long after Chloe had been killed. If I was killed along with her, I did not expect in the slightest that I would be lucky enough to cheat death for a second time.

Gulping, I flexed my fingers once more – admittedly out of habit, rather than a ridiculous attempt to psyche myself up. _I have a truly, terrible feeling about this._

I made my way to the back of the diner. The probability that the front had already been locked was fairly high; she would leave through the back, in any case. At least, I assumed so – perhaps the logic of assuming that the front would be locked in order to prevent anyone entering once the diner was closed was flimsy in itself, owing to my poor knowledge of diners, cafes and restaurants in general.

The door was unlocked – I pushed it gently, the latch not quite having caught itself enough to fully close. It opened without a creek, which I silently thanked it for (too frightened was I to properly acknowledge thanking an inanimate object). The only sound came adjacent to the corner; footsteps, the occasional _thump_ of something being placed on a hard surface, and then –

" _We're closed!"_

For a single moment all I could hear was blood pounding in my ears. A shiver ran up my spine, but my feet were too glued in place to pay much attention; if I was _not_ careful, someone would be walking over my grave fairly soon.

Her voice broke through the trance and I started forwards. I didn't have _time_. There were seconds. Frantically I glanced about me and didn't really think when I haphazardly grabbed the first thing in my line of sight – an unboxed heavy roll of cling film. It felt unbalanced as I gripped it, the sweat from trepidation making it slip. _Keep calm, keep calm…_

 _Fuck._

I rounded the corner to see the masked figure brandishing a knife, and the petrified look on Chloe's face as she realised what was coming for her. _Should have called the police, should have called someone!_

"Hey!" The words left my mouth before I really had a chance to doubt them. Truly, it may have had something to do with the speed in which Daniel approached her. I had made a decision to stay out of it, to leave Chloe's fate to the writer's discretions, and yet here I was, brandishing a plastic film that had about as much intimidation as a new-born kitten.

Daniel froze before he turned. To give him credit, he did not panic as he turned, nor did he show Chloe his back. He pushed against the bar, so we were both in his field of vision, the hand brandishing his weapon moving rapidly between us both. Chloe looked to me immediately, her chest heaving, and her face screwed up, pinched with horror.

"Leave. Now." I didn't know whether he would listen but clung to the hope that he really was a hapless coward and he would flee without harming either one of us if he believed he had been caught.

Neither happened, of course.

With his spare hand, Daniel flung a metal tissue dispenser towards Chloe. It hit her clean on the centre of her forehead and she fell backwards, head connecting with the corner of the door behind her. Nothing moved in slow motion as he hurled towards me, the weapon in his hand catching against the overhanging lights that had been dimmed moments before.

"Chloe!" I screamed as I ducked under his swinging hand. As I rose, I swung the cling film towards the back of his head and heard an unsettling _crack_ as it shuddered him in to a table. The chairs that had been stacked on top of it fell unceremoniously to the floor and the diner erupted in an uneven cascade of noise. For two steps I backed away from Daniel before turning and running behind the bar towards her. As I went to kneel, I felt a searing pain through my ankle and I crumpled beside her. The pain was singularly the worst I could recall feeling; in that moment, all I could hear was white noise. My knees would have buckled had I still been standing, but my hands began shaking as I pushed myself to sit. Eyes spun between the wound on my leg and Daniel, who was fast approaching, hovering menacingly as he adjusted the mask. I could feel Chloe twitch beside me as she came around.

Still he said nothing. I grimaced, poorly clutching at the plastic wrap and holding it out unsteadily towards him. There was nothing threatening about my stance. Chloe, however, was a tougher nut than I had given her credit for. She was breathing, shallow but there.

"Daniel." My voice no longer held the same level of authority it had before, and the name rattled between my teeth, but no matter how it had been said, it terrified him; Daniel froze, the knife tilting in his hand. Then he ran.

I was not foolish enough to chase after him – indeed, I was in no shape to. Despite my brashness of approaching the dinner I glanced beside me as Chloe's chest rose and fell and considered it, in those brief moments, a success.

As I glanced towards my own wound, I saw the pool of blood soaking in to my socks and shoes before I recognised the pain once more. There was too much blood to assess the wound, so I clumsily ripped off my jacket and pressed it against my ankle. With my other hand I reached for Chloe's wrist, forcing my eyes open as I counted her pulse. It was slower than it should be, but steady. Swallowing nervously, I returned to my ankle and wiped at the blood, grimacing and hissing between clenched teeth as I took stock of the deep, circular lesion. As if it would make it go away, I covered it with my jacket once more and shifted myself as I pulled my phone out from its pockets.

No sooner had I rung off the ambulance service did the doors burst open. Mick's shadowy figure came in to view, his eyes wide as he rounded the corner and looked down on us both. For a moment, it seemed he did not recognise me, and my heart foolishly skipped; my ragged appearance and sweat that beaded around the creases in my face smearing what little makeup I wore – it was hardly a comfortable sight.

"Robin?" After a few uncomfortable seconds, he knelt beside us. His eyes darted quickly between Chloe and my own, the air suddenly still and lodged uncomfortably in my throat.

"I've called an ambulance. She's okay," I breathed. Her wrist balanced across my lap as my fingers remained precariously against her fluttering pulse.

"What happened?" _Don't ask me that. You have to save Beth!_ It had not occurred to me that my own actions would have spurred Daniel to act with less rationality – not that he behaved with any, but the concern over Beth's wellbeing, and their later encounter that simply _had_ to happen surely could not have been compromised by my own human nature? What indeed would occur, should Mick not reach her on time, or Daniel be too terrified to stand idly outside the building just waiting for someone to come running out? Waiting for Christian? Or was he waiting nearby, hoping to catch us on the way? Was he building an alibi? It did not bare thinking about; I had done it. Chloe was alive.

"I came to see her, to make sure she was okay. Someone was here when I came in, and he attacked us – I don't know where he is now." Lie. Mick knew when humans were lying; my heartbeat was anything but normal and the blood still pooling from my ankle created an uncomfortable haze whereby I was becoming increasingly unsteady. I swallowed, ignoring the throbbing, and hastily squeezed my eyes shut before steadying them on his own. Shutting them did little to blink away the hazy residue.

Something shone behind Mick's eyes; a sudden flash of recognition, and a realisation of something inherently wrong. "I have to go." The words had barely left his mouth before he vanished – trailed only by the flashing blue lights that illuminated the diner. Chloe stirred beside me, and I finally shifted the jacket that hid my laceration.

* * *

I did not hate hospitals, per say, but like many they gave me a horrendously uncomfortable feeling that stirred unease and trepidation in the pit of my stomach. The wound had been cleaned, bandaged, and I had been given a nasty injection (something about the weapon used potentially carrying all sorts of dangerous infections). I had nodded and silently accepted the treatments, occasionally breaking the silence with a question regarding Chloe's well-being. The young blonde had severe concussion and an injury to the back of her head that had required stitches, but aside from that, she was alive. That was all I cared to hear. After refusing a blood transfusion ("I _like_ to regularly give blood."), they had settled me comfortably in a small waiting room. I bit the inside of my cheek as I signed away my life on a flimsy clipboard – _apparently,_ I paid in to health insurance, but the complexity and sheer grandeur of costs for such a simple thing startled me. I felt sick.

There seemed to be one lone, singular hospital in the middle of Los Angeles, and so it stood to reason that somewhere, on one of these floors, Jeff would be buried deep within his work, with no idea of what was to come. I did not truly believe he would be on this floor; from what I had gathered, his particular station was more long-term patients and severe trauma. Swallowing, feeling the chill settle at the root of my spine, I hastily peered about me. "Can I see my friend?" I asked the receptionist. She took the clipboard and smiled – whatever I was expecting from her incredibly proper appearance, it was not the gentleness that she responded with, and I felt immeasurably guilty.

"Until she comes around, only family are allowed in. We can tell her you're here, if you like?" I nodded. "You're clear to go home, if the doctor gave you your pain medication."

"Thank you." I moistened my lips, gave a manageable smile of my own – grinding my teeth against the pain as I placed a little too much pressure on the offending foot – and turned towards the exit. The automatic doors parted wilfully as I left, and I shuddered as the cold night air bristled against my skin. My eyes ached against the furious onslaught of bright, white lights and headlights from cars moving in and out of the drop-off area. I had not wanted to waste any time sitting in the plastic chairs – it could be hours more before Chloe woke, and I knew that my being there was not going to make her regain consciousness any faster. Staying would benefit no-one, not even myself; I wanted… no, _needed_ my bed. I needed sleep. I needed any part of sanity I could grasp with my blood stained, grubby palms.

"Robin?" The voice came from the left side of the drop-off zone. I squinted, the darkness most certainly no longer my friend. With an intense, suffocating sense of foreboding, I pressed forwards, and the PI swam in to view. "I came to check on you both. Is Chloe –"

"She's fine," I interrupted, stumbling over my words. Perhaps I should have stayed; the world outside was refusing to stay anymore stoic than the walls inside. _Those_ insisted upon moving, and there was little that could be done but watch as they swirled the acid in the bottom of my stomach with frequent, shoddy movements. "They let me go, but she's going to be okay." I moistened my lips again – why were they so dry? "Not sure about – about _him_ , though. I hit him pretty hard."

Mick chuckled. I wanted to laugh – _oh God, what was wrong with me?_ "He'll be taken care of. Do you need a ride home?" I nodded – at least, I think I did – and followed Mick, limping and hopping as I awkwardly manoeuvred myself in to his vehicle.

I had to stop making a habit of it. If I carried on, I was not going to last the series.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

 **Author's Note:** I actually really dislike writing in first-person, so goodness knows why I decided to! Special thanks go to Reinbeau, whose reviews really are why this chapter was uploaded now; I had started to lose a little _umph_ with it. A character from the original story makes a reappearance in this one.

Reviews will be invited along to the pub to watch England play in their first World Cup semi-final match in 28 years.

* * *

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I used my little finger to nudge the thick-rimmed glasses to the top, adjusting their precarious position with frighteningly debilitating enthusiasm. The essay before me – a three-thousand-word piece on the duality of human nature featured in Mary Shelly's _Frankenstein_ and Robert Louis Stephenson's _Jekyll and Hyde_ – bleated unforgivingly. The prominent ache in my ankle served as a stark reminder of my stupidity, but also prevented the inevitable onslaught of hysteria and exhaustion; ever since Mick left me on the outskirts of the complex, sleep felt like a heavy weight behind my eyelids that vehemently refused to shift. It had only been three days, yet the unhinged paranoia nestled in to the small cracks in my subconscious. I _knew_ I was being watched, but I couldn't prove it, so the blinds were permanently drawn as I hunched precariously over my desk, chewing furiously on the pen lid as if it were a hefty chunk of beef jerky.

The hospital had called the following day – two days ago – after which a connected call reunited me with Chloe's voice; a hoarse, strained correlation of syllables, but a voice nonetheless, thanking me with far more warmth than I had imagined her capable. The college had wanted her to speak out, both against Daniel and Christian, of which she was dead-set on doing. Imagining it would be fairly terrible if she did not, I encouraged her to push forwards. The secret study group was disbanded, and his peculiar class cancelled permanently from the curriculum. She was safe. The call had definitely brought closure, but the niggling self-doubt persevered through the disquiet. Something still felt off. _Mick_.

Pausing at the end of a messy scrawl, I positioned the pen on the tip of my tongue. In some ways, my certainly flaky introduction was a positive; the closeness, if it could be called comfortable at this stage, allowed me an easier access to the storyline, and afforded me the ability to keep track of various characters and their relationships. Disregarding the suspicions he quite possibly had, Mick had been both friendly and supportive, and that did not only include the car rides to and from my flat and his own. It was foolish to assume he did not hear my heartbeat multiplying each time he smiled or asked me a peculiar question, but he never indicated that it was a problem, or indeed that he was considering it a personal challenge to uncover. The brief, horrendously awkward encounter with one Josef Kostan had been a harsh slap in the face from reality; if I had begrudgingly come to terms with Guillermo and Mick being real, physical beings, Josef was another altogether, and despite my assertion that he paid little attention to female humans beyond what liquid refreshment they could offer him, I knew that too much of a fuss would place me directly in his line of sight. He had openly made one joke in my presence regarding Mick's drinking habits; it pegged to reason that more would surface. In other respects, the closeness was also dangerous, both for myself and Mick respectively. If I were to divulge any untoward information, it could potentially jeopardise the necessary progression between both Mick and Beth and could also endanger myself. Mick would likely go to Josef for advice if I so much as hinted that I knew what they both were, Guillermo included – subsequently, the Cleaners would get involved, I would be pushed in to a proverbial corner, and there would be an incredibly slim chance of a positive outcome. All in all, it was an incredibly unsteady thin line, and I was no tight-rope walker.

Julia's overly generous tickets poked wistfully out the top of my planner. They served as yet another frank reminder of my complete lack of discretion, no matter how often I told myself that it had been an eerie coincidence that we had met. Gently massaging a spot just above my left eye, I thought back on the encounter – I hadn't even introduced myself. Julia had not asked, either, and it was simply assumed I had known who she was when I explained that I knew who he was. By extension, I would have to know her; I had, after all, been staring at the poster. Still, I pondered, hastily brushing the concern aside – I had a few more days before the event, thus providing hours of time before I had to make an educated decision.

(It didn't really matter what I chose in all honesty, because regardless of the dangers, I knew my inner-fangirl would win).

Scribbling an eighty-seven at the top of the page in red marker, I placed the clipped pages on the top of a steadily growing pile. _Only two more to go._ With every essay I marked, my eyes were instinctively drawn to the bottom drawer adjacent to the desk. Fingertips prickled; within moments the folder was splayed out before me. Though there was nothing new, skimming the pages, deliberately avoiding the polaroid fastened to the top of a single page, it tightened the knot in my stomach. As I read, the distinctive memories returned, hard and fast – the slimy plastic of the body bag, and the sheer darkness; the strained rise and fall of my chest, the air becoming stale, thick, _stuck_ …

Hurriedly I replaced Guillermo's file and dropped my head into my hands. As I counted to regulate my breathing, I thought of my success – minor, perhaps irrelevant – but the living, breathing Chloe reunited by her worried family meant something in all this mess. No sooner had the news broken on mainstream media had my own rung me in a flurry of unintelligible words, and I had listened, on the floor, back pressed against the sofa, for almost ten minutes as she trailed off a list of demands I check myself over with before I was even allowed to say _I'm okay._ I was okay, I was going back to work; the culprit and Ellis were gone, though how much they would be able to pin on Ellis was fractured at this point. He could easily enough claim ignorance, given that there was no solid evidence he had anything to do with any of it other than being a perverted, slimy git whose birth certificate was undoubtedly an apology letter from the condom factory.

With a deep sigh, I reached for the second to last essay.

* * *

The media hype surrounding Lee Jay Spaulding had increased significantly; with only four days left until his release, almost every news station was covering the story – from his 'wrongful' imprisonment, to the memoir of his time, and the activities and workshops he had instigated and nurtured during his time inside. The latter was brought up considerably more so than the rest, pointedly laying on thick how he had been treated abysmally by the system and had come out of a flimsy, often accused fixed sentencing with his head held high. Grimacing, swallowing the last of my tea, I could understand Mick's frustration; they were marketing him as a martyr, and Julia, ever oblivious, was fooling no-one if she was trying to assert that it was purely a kind of hero complex and she was absolutely not in love with him.

I washed the mug and teaspoon in the sink, rotating my ankle as I balanced against the countertop. In a way, I was grateful for the consistent throbbing and the marginal spasms of pain. If anything, they reminded me regularly that I was not dreaming; the pain had been far too severe – the perfect, decisive moment to wake up. That had not happened, of course, and I was startlingly aware that I had an unprecedented amount of luck. Mick was clearly too involved in this newly resurfaced connection with Beth to give anything else much headspace, as much as he would be pained to admit it – if he ever did, come to think of it. I rubbed the offending ache above my eye once more before hobbling to collect my keys. Whilst it felt especially ridiculous to embark on any journey until fully recovered, the anxiety that forbade me from leaving my flat unless I was forced to owing to contractually binding obligations had abated. Besides, I told myself, collapsing in to the large red chair I kept by the front door, the worst had already happened; I had woken up in a body bag, in a morgue, to discover that a television show I had an endearing soft spot for was as real as my toenails.

I felt eyes on me the moment I stepped foot out of the block of flats, but rather than keep my head down I squared it level with my posture, shoulders set back and at least _attempted_ to walk confidently without seeming obnoxious. It was all speculation; nobody would be watching me, and even if they had been, there had been every opportunity to murder me in my sleep over the past few nights. Out of the two possible culprits – Christian and Daniel – only the latter would really have any just cause, and he was safely and securely locked up. I told myself this as I walked to the car park, keys jingling in my hand. Relief surged through me as I noted the car stationed in its designated bay; an atrociously offensive canary yellow Volkswagen Beetle that had been my first-ever major purchase, and a moment of considerable pride alongside moving in to my own flat. I had not really thought of checking before, which was something that would undoubtedly have come in handy, both travelling to the diner and not relying on Mick the whole time. That being said, even back home I had not driven everywhere; the college here was within a half-hour walking distance, and more often than not the air was crisp and cool in the mornings; it made up for the lack of jogging I felt far too self-conscious to do in unknown territory, even though I really needed to make the effort to do.

All the way to the supermarket I gripped the wheel as if it would slip away or break off – indeed, I was so terrified of driving on the _opposite_ side of the road it took all my concentration not to blanch and steer in the wrong direction. The only downside was the placement of the wheel; the car had been adequately modified to fit the US auto safety standards, but it was peculiarly strange to not be leaning the customary way. Swallowing, I gingerly guided the car in to a free space and rested my head against the wheel for a few brief moments to regain my composure.

Definitely needed more practice.

It occurred to me suddenly as I pushed the trolley through the doors that I had absolutely no idea how American supermarkets worked. _In that, I simply do not remember,_ I corrected myself, swallowing nervously. Deciding that they really could not be that different than the ones in the UK, I began my rounds of the aisles, pretending to be overly curious and decisive when examining the fruit and vegetables I needed – when in reality, the hairs on the back of my neck had prickled and I could not shake the feeling, no matter how busy it was, that someone was watching me. The paranoia had only just come from the incident with Daniel; before that, I had been convinced that I was blending _in_ to their society as much as I had back home. Now, however, I felt as if there were a giant neon sign raised above my head like a flagpole wherever I walked. Was there also a brilliantly obtuse sign plastered on my back, too?

As I rounded a corner, twenty minutes later and still fully convinced someone, or something had their eyes on me, I noticed a girl struggling to reach the top shelf of the pharmaceutical aisle. She was balancing on one foot, but only reaching with a single hand; the other was held fast to her chest, not gripping the shelving underneath to give herself a little leverage or indeed to hold herself steady. She had to have been my height, if not a little taller, but the way her shoulders hunched, and her face screwed up as if something twinged painfully every time she moved suggested that her struggles came from something else entirely.

"Excuse me, sorry – would you like some help?" Several people had passed her by without so much as a helpful glance. It had nothing to do with being a teacher and helping people by proxy; I had always felt it incredibly rude. Still, my voice trailed off, and I straightened myself, smiling.

The girl stopped reaching and turned to face me; her eyes were an astounding baby blue, eclipsed by chestnut hair bundled furiously in to a bun with tendrils clinging to her face, damp with tears – but tears of pain, or something else? Her free hand clutched the other at the wrist and she nodded, licking parched lips. "I ran out of vitamins."

"These?" I asked, pressing one foot down on the bottom shelf and lifting myself with the one level with my head – in seconds, I had the plastic container and dropped back down, handing them out with another gentle smile. The girl nodded, grimacing again as she reached out to take them.

"Thank you – I should have just asked someone… but I hurt my wrist – usually I can get them." It seemed neither of us really knew what to say in the silence that followed. She continued to rub her wrist through the fabric on her sleeve, whether she knew she was doing so or not.

"I'm Robin." Taking a lesson learned from my earlier encounter with Julia, and deciding it was time for some old-fashioned courage (wherever that had gone in the first place), I continued. "Are you alright? Do you need a lift anywhere?" I would have offered anyway, back home, even though I had been told I was far too trustworthy and as a result horrendously naïve, but I also felt unwaveringly unsafe, and I knew that if I had company the unease would lessen. Or so I hoped. There was also something strange about the girl; I had thought at first her height mirrored my own, and that we were similar ages; although it seemed as if we were perfectly level, which was a comforting surprise in itself as I was not particularly known for my height unless aided by heels, her face lacked the tell-tale definition that reflected age. To me, admittedly experienced with teenagers in classes, she looked to be around eighteen or nineteen; a good seven years younger than myself.

Despite this, she nodded, and there was a smile on her lips that although felt forced, I appreciated nonetheless. "Lilia. Well… Lillian, but that was my grandmother's name." She sniffed uncertainly. I had been named so stereotypically it was almost comical; born near Christmas, where robin birds were typically resident. "Please. I came with some others, but I think they got bored and left. The house isn't far."

The way she said house made me think she was part of some sorority. I did not really know what they were; my only information came from countless nights of young adult teen romance films based in the country I was now in. "That's okay. I've only got a couple more bits to grab before I'm done and then I can take you."

"Are you sure you don't mind?" She followed closely to the trolley, still clutching her wrist. I tried not to look, instead switching my gaze between the space around us and her as we traded conversation back and forth. "I should really have asked for help and they wouldn't have left so quickly."

"I don't mind at all. So long as you're happy to guide me." Pausing to retrieve the last item – a loaf of bread – I followed up, "is your wrist okay?"

Lilia nodded. She looked away as she spoke. "I caught it on some fencing a few days ago. Nothing bad – I've been to the hospital, but it is still a little bruised." Something niggled at the back of my mind. The paranoia of someone watching had shifted, not entirely but ever so slightly towards something to do with her. I could not go around suspecting everyone of being a prominent character in the Moonlight universe, but given how many vampires lived in Los Angeles alone, was it not particularly feasible that there would be twice as many freshies, perhaps arguably more, wandering around the streets carrying on their lives away from the creatures they fed? It wouldn't do me any good to ask, so I accepted her reasoning and offered a comforting smile as we went through the checkout, Lilia paying for her single tube of vitamins before I went through with my own. Any prior concerns I had had regarding American supermarkets were washed away; I had, and not for the first time, overthought everything and panicked in accordance to that worry.

Once back in the car – and I had not missed the way her eyes shone slightly at the colour – the conversation continued. "Take a couple of lefts and then carry on following the road until you reach a hill," she said, securing her seatbelt. Then, as I turned out of the carpark: "I don't see many yellow cars."

I grinned – possibly the very first real burst of amusement at the sheer normality of the question. I had defended my choice of car back home with equal hilarity, and it made me incredibly happy to see the looks on people's faces as I described my childish reasons why. "There's a game I used to play when I was younger; every time you see a yellow car, you poke or prod the nearest person to you and say 'yellow car!' The one with the most points at the end of the journey wins. Yellow minis were worth five points, I think – although this isn't a mini, but I like to think it is worth an equal amount. I chose the colour to annoy other parents as I have no doubt their children would be playing this, too." Unless it had died out, of course; I had not heard anybody talk about it in years.

Neither, apparently, had she; Lilia laughed. It was hoarse, and a little scratchy, but it was there, the damp tears on her face almost forgotten. Whatever she had been worried about was apparently forgotten, or simply not deemed important enough to dwell on any longer.

The amusement for me decreased significantly as I followed her instructions and drove up the winding hill towards a lone – well, not quite a mansion, but not a singular house, either. _Villa_ was the word that came to mind, but that did not seem to fit the description perfectly. And I knew precisely who the owner was. With my heart in my throat, I drove up to the gate; Lilia was in the perfect position given the space of the driving wheel to lean out and speak in to the intercom; seconds later, the gate slowly peeled backwards. I parked the car near the entrance, alongside a couple of other rather expensive looking ones. Lilia smiled sheepishly, all nervousness forgotten.

"Could you wait here a second?" She was gone before I really had the chance to answer. The thumping in my chest was so loud I just _knew_ he would be able to hear. _Stupid, stupid girl_. The inner monologue of degradation would not help; he could not read minds, no matter how much I believed he was capable of with just a single look. The only giveaway would be my heart – and how he was incredibly likely to recognise the face that had been in Mick's office not a week before today. I did _not_ like the idea of being on his radar of peculiar coincidences.

True to her word, however, she was back within moments; the front door was left wide open, but she leaned in my window brandishing a post-it note with a small scribble on it. "Thank you, Robin. Here's my number; I left my phone inside, but I would love to buy you a coffee to make it up."

I shook my head, suddenly aware of a presence lingering by the door. "It's really fine, honestly."

Lilia, however, was apparently rather persuasive and stubborn. "No, really – you have no idea how grateful I am. Please, send me a text and I'll get back to you as soon as I can." For a freshie she was rather outgoing – then I recalled Simone and realised that not all of them were vain and incredibly irritating.

"Okay – but really, it's not a problem I promise. Anytime." I took the post-it note and pushed it in to the pocket of my light cardigan. Lilia smiled, waving with her good hand as she stepped back towards the entrance. True to form, there he stood – and even as I reversed, hyper-aware of the other cars in the vicinity, Josef Kostan watched as I waited for the gate to open once more.

I could not relax until I was so far down the road the house was no longer visible in my rear-view mirror, but that did not stop the gasp that escaped as a choked cry.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

 **Author's Note:** If anyone wants a slight visual aid on what Robin is wearing at the beginning of this chapter, head over here: shoplook . io / outfit-preview/78690 (remove the spaces!). Unfortunately my go-to site Polyvore closed, but that is a pretty neat alternative (though I have not yet gotten the hang of it). Fortunately, the image of the dress includes the choker and the clutch that I felt she would have, so I did not have to hunt around for alternatives!

Reviews will be taken along to see Return to the Forbidden Planet.

* * *

The last event I had attended that required something a little more than 'smart-casual' attire was my graduation ceremony, closing three intense years of a degree followed by another year-long process of the PGCE course. Directly from this event, several friends had taken it upon themselves to arrange a dangerous foray in to the Brighton nightlife; several bars, and almost twice as many drinks later, we were giggling our way through a Subway as we made our merry way home. Despite the precautions I had taken – half a glass of Coca-Cola, half a glass of Red Bull and a packet of ready salted crisps – the hangover was enough to swear me off drinking for life. When I drank after that, I stuck to my limits – but standing in the foyer of the venue Julia had meticulously decorated (or, at the very least, supervised the procedure), I felt like I could down every available beverage in the vicinity.

Beside me, Lilia flourished. I had not known who to bring, in the hours of false contemplation I spent ignoring the obvious fact that I was going to go. The truth was, there were very few people I _could_ invite; apparently, I was even more of a recluse here than I had been back home, and my steady circle of friends was limited to healthy exchanges with work colleagues and nothing more. The options, therefore, were few and far between; Guillermo, Mick, or Lilia. Since the first two were absolutely out of the question, I had text the latter a rather hurried mess of words detailing the event and even though Lilia insisted that she owed me, I pressed that I would _'very much appreciate the company'._ I could have come alone, and in hindsight embracing a strange, almost-friendship with a freshie was not the best of ideas if I wanted to stay out of Josef's line of sight, even his peripheral vision if I could help it.

"I love parties," she smiled sideways as we walked in. The dubious guest of honour had not yet arrived, and after quickly taking stock of the room I felt immediate relief that neither Beth nor her cameraman were either. It was, however, Lilia's next words that lit the fire once more; we took advantage of the free welcoming champagne (I had sensibly arranged a taxi, although was slightly uneasy at the distinctive lack of a quick getaway) and moved to an empty space near the back of the room. "My boss is having one later this week, and I really do owe you for the lift the other day. Would you like to come?" Swallowing, then immediately coughing on the overly generous mouthful I had mistakenly taken, I hurriedly sought to regain my composure. Lilia looked far too engrossed at the bright lights and constant chattering to have taken much notice of my hiccup, to which I sought thanks to Lady Luck. Several times early on I attempted to steal a glance at her wrist, the one she had obsessively cradled at the supermarket, but there was nothing to suggest a vampire had sunk his fangs in to her skin; in fact, the girl was miles from her timid persona I had first encountered her with.

I did not really have much time to consider the offer, and found myself spluttering out "Yes, of course – I would love to." When, in actual fact, I would rather have been forced to watch _Twilight_ on repeat until my eyes bled. There was absolutely no way I would be able to hide anything in that close a vicinity, and no way he would not take the opportunity to study me further. I could not be in two places at once, but between the party and making sure Beth discovered the truth, I would much rather be at home, hiding, locking the door and all the windows and barricading myself in my bedroom until morning. It certainly occurred to me that I was being ridiculously overdramatic, and that the absolute worst that could happen would be Josef sussing me out with a simple look – which was impossible, as I knew that not a single thing in the world would tempt me to revealing just how much I knew about him, about Sarah, and his entire community as a whole. I could have a single drink as to not stand out further, and then blend myself in to whatever party scene befell his home. The show had never revealed anything like it, but when I thought about it, gingerly taking another careful sip of champagne, it felt pretty perfect for the vampire. I shuddered nervously, but despite the increasing unease I straightened myself, at least attempting to look like I belonged here. In truth, I had painfully little to discuss with anyone.

"I never actually asked what you do," the freshie peered at me from under sooty lashes. Her eyes occasionally made waves of the room, as if she were looking for someone in particular. "Sorry, I'm not being very polite, am I?" She chuckled, her glossy lips stretching in to a smile behind her glass.

"I teach at LACC." I replied. Definitely needed more alcohol.

Her eyes grew like saucers. "You mean the local college with that crazy professor?" The words drew an automatic grimace as I nodded candidly. There was not a whole lot else I could offer her, there; I had a feeling that this was going to be a regular occurrence whenever someone asked me about what I did for a living. People would now care less about the joys of teaching teenagers and young adults, and more about the married Professor who was sleeping with his students, and his creepy assistant who freely endorsed killing those who got in the way. "Did you ever speak to him?"

It was not that I found her annoying – indeed, if I had, I never would have asked her to come with me. Very few people were privy to what happened at the diner, and Chloe had been unconscious at the time I had used Daniel's name. Nobody had questioned either story, but the thought of it still send shivers up my back. "A couple of times, if that. I replaced Daniel as a TA for a single class, but the rest of the time, as I am now, I was shut away in the Literature departments." She offered a low whistle – was she _impressed_? Or merely unnerved? Either way, she continued in earnest.

"What made you come to America? Your accent is a dead giveaway."

 _Balls._

"I suppose I wanted to push myself. I taught for a couple of years back home, then decided I wanted a change of scenery. That's literally it – I am fairly boring, in that respect." No whimsical tale of running from a sudden death or abusive partner; no humiliation or loss. The excuse I gave seemed the most believable, unless something terrible had happened in this universe. I _had_ ended up dead in a river, after all.

At any rate, Lilia believed me; at least, there were no signs to the contrary. She finished her glass. Still pacing my way through my own, I took my chance.

"What do you do?"

Without missing a beat, Lilia grinned: "I'm a PA. One of many," she rolled her eyes as if to suggest she would much rather it be just her. Of that, I had no doubt. "But it's brilliant pay, my boss – Mr. Kostan – he takes good care of anyone who works for him. So long as you do your job, of course." She nodded assertively, and I swallowed another mouthful to abate my nerves. Absolute bullshit; yes, I believed from his behaviour on the show that he took immense care of anyone under his 'private' collection of freshies, or in fact any others, but she most certainly was not a personal assistant. Not in _that_ way. She probably did do something, but no sooner had I thought that did I recall the tight harem sunbathing and playing in the pool in the background of his first introductory scene. No boss I had ever known would have allowed me to get away with _that._ Suspicions all but confirmed, I moved the conversation swiftly onwards – which was not hard, as one apt blonde reporter chose that moment to enter the building.

"I think I'd rather like to stay out of any media interviews," I glanced at Lilia as we trailed our way to the bar. She was still buzzing, but not in a ridiculously shameful way; she genuinely seemed at home in a social environment, and despite my teaching background I was the complete opposite. It took a lot to hold a conversation outside of the classroom, and half the time I simply wanted to resort to discussing novels and their authors.

I very nearly had heart failure when Lilia produced a crisp note from a tight wad kept firmly in her purse. She had not even asked, yet once the exchange was complete she pushed another drink in to my free hand and I felt under a strange, unspoken pressure to hurriedly finish my first. "Thank you," I answered, trying not to choke as I did. At least this one looked more like gin, I sniffed, placing my empty glass down at the bar behind us. "I'll get the next one."

"No problem! I really do owe you," and then, as if she had shamefully forgotten, "oh, I know her! She presents Buzzwire, doesn't she?" Perfectly manicured fingernails tapped at the edge of her bulbous stemmed glass, the ice rattling against the movement. "Beth… Turner?"

 _Oh, fantastic._ I bristled. "I think so." When, in fact, I knew very well so. Beth's arrival was timed to near-perfection; somewhere in the background, there was a rouse of cheers as the guest of honour followed a prim-perfect brunette through the crowd to the centre of the room. They were inches from us, but I could feel the cold air and the hairs once again on the back of my neck; this was nothing like watching him through the safety of a screen. He had _killed_ people. Made it look like _suicide._ What came incredibly close to that was his ability to read people. When he was younger, his sloppy arrogance had resulted in his capture, but years behind bars had given Lee Jay Spaulding an unwavering edge; the simple way he walked could never be mistaken for arrogance now. It was pure _confidence_. Like he believed his own lie – the real monster, the real culprit, was the vampire he was determined to frame. I was a terrible liar, and most of the time unless I tried particularly hard every emotion I had was painted over my face for the world to see. My 'teacher face', universally dubbed, was a mask, but I had never been able to bring that in to the real world.

"He's not _bad_ looking, is he?" Lilia offered, craning her neck. We were both short, but he was incredibly hard to miss. "Maybe it's just that wounded hero thing, given that he never did anything wrong." _Did she honestly believe…?_ I could not truly blame her, or indeed judge her for her opinions; Julia had done a spectacular job of influencing the public's image of Lee Jay and had almost everyone convinced that he had been framed – right down to the constant reminder of his actions towards charities in prison. She looked at me, and my face must have been a picture because she immediately laughed and patted me on the arm. "I'm kidding. Really. It's not exactly unheard of that prisoners get framed for things they didn't do. I'm just amazed this one has such a high media coverage." I glanced at her warily, noting how steadily close Julia was becoming. The only consolation for this moment when Julia's eyes locked in to us was that, in a few days, he would be dead. There was a lot of grief and damage to get through until that moment, but nobody _died._ Except him, and his delightful thugs. Somehow, I could not rationalise feeling bad about that.

"Thank you for coming," Julia was all smiles as she led Lee Jay to the space before us. In his arms, he held a few glossy hardbacks of his own memoir. Lilia couldn't stop looking between them, and Lee Jay's unsettling smirk hovered on us both. "I'm sorry if I was a little forward, but I really wanted Lee Jay to know how much people support him."

"Of course," I said, moving the glass to my left hand as I extended the other towards the murderer, thankfully stationed directly in front of Lilia and _not_ myself. "I'm Robin, and this is Lilia. It's wonderful to finally meet you." Julia positively glowed at my words; she really did think I meant it. Lee Jay enclosed his hand around mine and shook it, holding it no longer than a few seconds before he let it go. Those few seconds were the single most tense I had ever felt since being here; in that moment, the air had stilled, grown cold, and the audible noise was suddenly like listening to something underwater. As soon as I had my hand back everything returned to normal, or at the very least as normal as it could be, but I could not ignore the rate in which my heart skyrocketed as he smiled down at me.

"Lee Jay Spaulding. I really do appreciate you being here." With an effortless flick of his hands he produced a pen from inside his suit pocket, flipped open the first page of a hardback and scribbled inside. The first he handed to Lilia, who, credit to her, held her head as high as it was possible to given the height difference and graciously accepted. The girl was most definitely the complete opposite to my rather frank impressions of freshies; she held herself very well. When he handed me my own, I could only briefly hold my gaze to the image on the cover, as I balanced it along with my glass.

"Thank you. I can't wait to read it." Somewhere in the background I caught sight of Mick, holding a flimsy looking folder in his hand as he spoke in an urgent hushed voice to Beth. Julia must have seen them as she turned, and positively bouncing on her feet she tapped Lee Jay's arm.

"Beth's here!" Clearly, they had discussed the matter of a film crew, and indeed who Beth was, beforehand, but there was no hiding the way the corners of his mouth grew spectacularly at the sight of the private investigator. "Please, enjoy the evening." The two of them took off towards the others, and I finally managed to breathe. It did not phase me that I had not managed to even hoarsely choke out a _goodbye_ ; they were gone, and the air was clear, but my hand still felt warm and stung irritably. I immediately felt sick, and my grip on the autobiography tightened; I did not even want to look at it.

"Is that…Mick St. John?" Lilia's soft, bright voice did not wholly break my trance, but it was enough to switch my gaze away from the tense introductions taking place a few feet away. "Ooh, what a small world." I didn't ask her what she meant; I knew, and in any case, despite her infectious friendliness, I was not entirely sure she would explain. There was understandably a certain degree of discretion to be had by freshies, otherwise they would find themselves worrying less about their jobs and more so their lives.

Quickly I finished the gin, finding the savoury raspberry aftertaste uncomfortably like fruit juice and therefore incredibly easy to digest at an alarming rate. Lilia did not notice; she was mimicking the Cheshire Cat, lips spread wide between each small mouthful of her own beverage. Between the group disbanding and Lee Jay making his way to the central podium I swiftly acquired another gin, carefully making note of just how much alcohol I was ingesting. Sensibly, I requested a water, and downed the glass in one, passing the empty tumblr back to a bewildered looking barman. With a smile I faced the podium, hoisting the book under my arm and keeping my head low enough to avoid being in Mick's line of sight. From the brief glance I took, he was far too talking to Beth anyway.

* * *

" _I don't care who they are, or how tough they think they are. You look them straight in the eye and you say: 'I'm better than you. I'm stronger than you. And I'm going to win.'"_

Lee Jay's words echoed in my mind as he left the podium. As had many others, I had been utterly fixated; whether he truly had been before or not, there was simply no mistaking that this man was a gifted orator. One glance to my right showed me that Lilia thought the same; her eyes were wide, her jaw lax and partially open, even though the speech had ended.

"Well," she spoke eventually; I switched my gaze between her and Mick, who was making an unmistakably dire run for the bathroom. "If this book is anything like he speaks in person, I can't wait to read it." She hesitated, taking a sip of her drink.

I swallowed nervously again as Lilia announced she was heading to the bathroom. Taking stock of the room, I temporarily relieved her of her drink and pressed my back against a pillar. It had not taken Lee Jay long to follow after Mick, leaving Julia's side for the first time all evening with a cleverly placed kiss atop her head. Something unsettling grew in the pit of my stomach. I placed Lilia's drink down on a side table and readjusted the position of my clutch and the book so they both held as comfortably as possible in my free hand. With my other, I took a long, heavy mouthful of saffron-infused gin and tried not to think about what was happening in the restrooms.

All anyone was talking about was how _enigmatic_ he was; if there was anything else, I could not make it out, not that I was straining particularly hard to hear. I irritated myself, in that instance – wanting so bad to be a part of this universe, _becoming_ a part of it, and then dilly-dallying on the fence about whether or not I should move across state and simply allow nature to take its course. Except, because of me, Chloe was alive, and I had to take that as a positive no matter how much guilt swelled around the memory. Seeing something and being there, however, were entirely different things. I was safer at home on the sofa with my then best friend Rosie, watching episode after episode, gushing in a humiliating fashion over who was decisively more attractive. Here, despite my flimsy knowledge on what exactly had taken place to bring me here, I was very much so in danger; even if I had woken up in a morgue it would not take a great deal to end me back there – and if that happened, it was incredibly probable I would not be afforded a second chance.

I had shaken the man's hand and allowed his eyes to bare in to mine, and even if that realistically meant nothing, paranoia wormed its way in and I felt as if he _could_ read my mind – as if I had given something detrimental away, and he knew it, and what's worse was I felt as if I could see the cogs turning away in the back of his mind as he added me to another list of people that needed to be dealt with. None of this was true, of course, and possibly the only vampire currently in the city (that I was remotely aware of in this moment) capable of even guessing at there being something amiss was Josef, and I had rather foolishly agreed to accompany Lilia to one of his 'parties'.

Taking a shallow breath, I nodded towards the table as Lilia returned and reclaimed her drink. She spoke in a hurried tone about what she had overheard whilst in one of the cubicles; something about one of the guests, or what they had pointed out to the individual in question, and how Lilia had been trying "so, so hard" not to giggle uncontrollably. "It just reminded me of someone at work," she breathed, wiping away the tiny molecules of salty water. "So funny. Rather like being back at high school."

It felt like an exaggeration, as Lilia was barely nineteen by the look of her. I did not say anything, but it reinforced my belief that Josef had a thing for keeping younger, more vulnerable freshies around. If I asked why, I would probably be answering my own question. "I bet you have as many office stories as I do of students," I replied, eyes trained in the direction of the bathrooms. It did not take long – as Lilia moved to respond, eyes still glistening from laughter, Lee Jay's fiery tone reverberated around the room, enough to still the noise level in an instant.

"Somebody help! Please! Somebody help!"

Photographers were there in an instant, piling around frantically as Julia rushed over. Bile rose in my throat.

"Oh my God…" To my surprise, Lilia did not gravitate with the crowd towards the commotion; she remained by my side, one hand holding fast the book to her chest. My own were trembling; the tightness grew unforgivingly against my glass and I had to force myself to stay calm – or to _try_ and calm down. Just a little; it took far too much energy to do that alone as Mick pushed past the crowd. Everyone was far too focused on them to care much about anyone else.

The noise level did not grow, but it buzzed unforgivingly, like a heavy, vibrating white noise. Every nerve in my body stood on end. I could hear my heart thudding in my chest and blood pounding in my ears; my vision blurred drastically, as if I were looking through a fish-eye lens. _Breathe. Remember to breathe._ Sweat beaded along my forehead and chest. Toes tingled as I tried to move. _Circulate. Move. Breathe._ People were pushing. _I can't have eyes everywhere_. Fists tightened. _Breathe, Robin. Just breathe._

"Hey, Robin? Are you alright?"

I swallowed, breathing coming in short, fast bursts. Trying to focus on her line of sight was _so damn hard_ and I couldn't stop shaking. I needed – _wanted_ – to be sick. _No, no you don't, Robin. Just breathe._

"I think I just need some fresh air." Where in the Hell that had come from I didn't know, but Lilia did not question it. She began to lead me through the crowd after abandoning our drinks, some of whom were turned in to complete strangers frantically discussing what had just happened, even after the main guests in question had departed. _Breathe. Just breathe._ I felt horrendously sick, even as we pushed open the doors and fled to the side of the gathering crowds. I saw Mick discussing something with Beth as Julia piled Lee Jay in to a car, saw him look up for just a fraction of a second as our eyes met for the briefest of moments. I did not hold my gaze to find out if his lingered; I needed to get some space. My palms were sweaty and it felt awkward holding the book as the sleeve slipped uncomfortably between my fingers.

"What happened?" She asked once we were clear of the crowd. I didn't want to look up; she was in front of me, but if I looked directly at her I could easily see Mick in my peripheral vision, and I knew he kept stealing me glances. _Breathe. Nothing is amiss._

"I'm not sure," I replied slowly, leaning against the cold brick exterior of the building. "That hasn't happened in a while. I used to get panic attacks a lot as a teenager, but I thought I'd worked through them." Whilst I knew what had caused mine, I didn't feel as if I could tell her. I could not tell _anyone_. Nobody else knew what he really was in that room aside from Mick, and he could look after himself. _God, I feel sick._

"I don't have work until the afternoon tomorrow, but if everyone else has gone we can too, if you like?" I don't know why I was alarmed at her understanding; she had been nothing but friendly and kind, and those were partly the reasons I had invited her in the first place.

Nodding, I pushed myself off the wall, taking time to straighten myself as blood continued to pound fiercely in my ears. "Are you okay getting home?" The freshie nodded eagerly.

"Yeah, I'm good. Besides, my boss will _kill_ me if I show up with a hangover." She grinned sheepishly, as if she were making a joke I could not possibly understand. Naturally I did, but I offered a chuckle at best.

As I climbed in to my own taxi, leaving Lilia will a one-armed embrace and a promise from her to text me the time and place of the gathering (I swallowed another lump that threatened to expand in to a subsequent panic attack at the thought of Josef's 'party'), I resisted the urge to look forwards; I felt eyes on me, despite Lilia having grabbed the taxi behind mine, and I climbed awkwardly in to the backseat, rapidly closing the door before anything could happen; the last thing I needed was Mick questioning my attendance, or indeed any conversation with vampires at all.

 _You're safe. Just breathe._


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

 **Author's Note:** I can only apologise profusely. I've been so, so sick and so busy and then lots of things happened and writer's block can go sit on a cactus. Then I got to see a show I have been in love with for years at very short notice (if you ever get the chance to see "Return to the Forbidden Planet" go go go!).

This chapter is so much shorter than I wanted it to be, but the next one I can assure you is half written and is one I am super excited for, at least! There's at least another after that before hitting the stride of episode three, where Robin should find herself entangled a little more closely than she would like. Gulp. The ending of this deviates ever so slightly from what actually occurs in the episode, but I tried to think realistically, and I'll explain a little more if anyone notices in the next author's note.

I still don't have a BETA, and despite my best efforts there are probably a few mistakes! I have also tried to keep Robin's outer and inner monologues quintessentially British, and everyone else using American terms (I HOPE!)

Reviews will taken along to the rather swanky Alchemist Bar in London for my birthday.

* * *

"Thank you for meeting with me," I pressed my fingers in to the bare flesh on my legs, crossing and uncrossing them until I settled with hooking one ankle over the other. Tentatively I gripped the handle of the rather obtuse mug, tugging it towards me. I watched my guest with trepidation; having not really known what to say, or how to broach the request, it had come out in a rather messy bundle of words, so much so it had been necessary to articulate the same words in a much slower response. I was not even really sure what I wanted, but Guillermo had been the first person I had met here, and despite the fact that the man had admittedly seen me without clothes on, there was a peculiar comfort in his presence.

His own mug, that I had shamelessly purchased for him whilst I waited, remained untouched – although to his credit, he did occasionally bring the rim to his lips before settling it down; there was, quite obviously, not even the hint of a smudge of coffee against his lips. "It's no problem." Guillermo looked a little uncomfortable; I had chosen a space far from the window, where the only beneficial light came from the hanging lamps overhead. I wondered curiously if he ever got out much; in all his scenes, not counting the last episode, he was buried in the depths of the morgue, and mentioned occasionally going to the cinema. That being said, he had once made a quip about _'vampire women'_ being difficult to understand.

"I know it shouldn't bother me," I began slowly, carefully trying to articulate my words in a way that would _not_ seem utterly foolhardy. Most of my additional concentration was focused on regulating my heartrate. "But I still cannot remember what happened."

Guillermo did not so much as frown; he made an effort to feign being human by taking a sip of coffee, before linking his fingers together and resting them in his lap. "We couldn't find anything." He paused, seeming to deliberate on a point before ultimately deciding to share it anyway. "Mick and I did look, but everything I personally noted is written in that folder." He nodded to the file in the middle of the table. "You were in that unit for three hours before I heard you; I'd examined you briefly when you came in and set you in there to be –" He paused, and I grimaced – it was fairly obvious what he had been going to do had I not woken up, and I really did not want to think about it. Nodding, Guillermo continued. "There didn't seem to be anything in your lungs, which doesn't correlate with where they found you."

I blinked slowly at him, trying to remember how to speak and breathe simultaneously. "I thought you said you didn't – didn't _cut me open_." I should have called it for what it was, but 'autopsy' felt surreal, like it no longer belonged in this parallel. At least not my own. If he sensed my discomfort, he made no move to show it, instead choosing to shift a little in his seat. Clearly, he was just as uncomfortable being out with a human as I was discussing my death.

"I didn't. When you woke, your body should have expelled the river water; there's no possible way you would have been able to digest it. You were dry-heaving, suggesting that there was not anything in your stomach to begin with."

"They – you – thought I had drowned." I murmured and was met with a conclusive nod. It didn't make sense, but gradually the wheels had started to turn and I was met with an alarming realisation. "Was… was I dead _before_ I hit the water?" I knew immediately how ridiculous I sounded, but whenever I tried to remember what had happened before waking up I was met with a brick wall. Concentrating hard enough, I could just about make out rain pounding as windscreen wipers worked overtime to clear the visibility in my car. The traffic was loud, not unusual for Brighton rush hour, but I had the nagging feeling that I was not _in_ Brighton, that I had been visiting someone. There was no-one to contact, really, either; all the palatable friendships I had built up over the few fresh years I had been teaching no longer existed. The proverbial slate had been wiped clean as it were, and as far as childhood friends went – they were scattered across various towns and cities throughout the United Kingdom, even Rosie.

"There was no CCTV in the surrounding area." He appeared to be musing on something, reflecting cautiously without letting his eyes wander from my own. I swallowed heavily, nails making crescent-shaped dents in my palms as I tried not to fall back in to panic. I knew what he meant, however. The unease began to creep up from the very tips of my shoes, and I continued to shudder involuntarily. _Get a grip, Robin. Please._ You _asked him here._

"Someone… someone tried to kill me." I had not intended to say it, but the truth was what both of us were thinking. Guillermo gave a small, almost indiscernible nod.

"It's certainly one theory. If they knew you, though – you've been back to work."

"They would have tried again," I replied, staring in to my still full mug of coffee and wondering whether or not I had the stomach to drink it. It all felt painfully surreal, but there was still something I was missing. It was right there – right on the very tip of my tongue. Fuzzy memories and brief flashes of sound and colours aside, it was as if someone had deliberately _erased_ something, and the thought made me sick to my stomach no matter how impossible that would be. This was not _X-Files_ , after all. "I don't remember. I can't remember."

When I looked up at Guillermo, he seemed puzzled. "As I said, I only did a preliminary exam. There were traces of something found along with the river water on your mouth, but it doesn't match anything in the databases I've checked." He stiffened slightly – just slightly, but it was at the precise moment I reached for the coffee and brought it to my lips. It was cool enough now to drink without flinching, yet it did not abate the bewilderment at his words. I found myself telling him I didn't take drugs, which came out more of a mutter than a decisive statement and would not ordinarily have fooled anyone. Guillermo, however, took it as gospel, and nudged his own mug, reiterating that if it had been anything recreational it would have come up on the computer.

By the time I replaced my mug on the table I had drunk over half. Guillermo appeared not to have even skimmed his, and although I knew he felt rude to have more or less ignored the drink I could hardly tell him that. Instead, I decided to ignore it, allowing the silence to fill the open space around us. Although the atmosphere typically reeked of awkwardness it was oddly peaceful; I felt an undisturbed comfort and an odd sense of safety being close to Guillermo – despite the obvious reasons as to why this was positively ridiculous. Swallowing nervously, I fiddled with the butterfly clip at the back of one of my lobe piercings. I had asked him here to try and gain some perspective, to take stock of my situation, but it had only ended up causing _more_ problems.

"How's your foot?" He asked. I blanched, blinking rapidly until his words came in to focus.

"Oh – it's fine. It wasn't a deep puncture." Wincing, I instinctively rubbed the scar, balancing the foot in question across my lap. I had another, just above it; the two white marks glistened offensively against my pale skin. I was being irrationally blasé about the injury; it could have been considerably worse, and I was fortunate that my temporary lapse in common sense had not caused a more permanent detriment to my health. Guillermo regarded my response with one single raised eyebrow, head cocking gently to one side. I swallowed, bringing the mug to my lips once more, allowing the brief pregnant pause to fill the hole I had dutifully dug for myself. He knew precisely what it was, and precisely what had happened.

After a stark few, quiet moments Guillermo pulled out his phone, and I watched transfixed as he typed with little effort, using his left thumb to glide across the screen. "Mick said you saved that girl's life." Naturally the two spoke regularly, and no doubt word of this meeting would find its way back to him, but I could not be angry; it was my own behaviour that reeked of carelessness, and nothing within the vampire community remained a secret for long amongst old, close friends. Still, I could not withhold the grimace, and I bit the inside of my cheek as I tore my eyes away from his hands.

"I wanted to make sure she was okay. Daniel always made me… uneasy." I reflected solemnly. "I wouldn't have guessed him capable of this, though." Shaking my head, I finished the remainder of my coffee and pushed the mug to the side. After all of this was over, I would really need to reflect on my subpar acting skills.

"There's only one individual I can think of who could possibly help." Stowing his phone, Guillermo straightened himself again. "If you want, I can get in contact; if there is anything to find, he can find it." I knew without deliberation that it would have to be between Logan or Ryder; the thought of even more vampires being unwittingly brought in to my life stirred the uncomfortable sickness at the pit of my stomach, but I furiously banished it. The decision lay between total ignorance and potential danger, and a resolution to my appearance here – and I knew precisely which I preferred.

"It's worth trying." I finished the rest of my coffee. "Thank you." Besides, I had no-one to blame but myself; I could just have easily packed up my bags and moved myself across the pond, back home to my family and if _that_ had not fixed the universe I found myself in, I could simply repeatedly apply for my old teaching post and wait for the world to settle back to what it was. The problem was, there remained a distinctively high probability that this would _not_ happen. Curiously, as these thoughts processed, the temptation to reach out and _touch_ the vampire across the table grew to an uncomfortable level.

 _Where did that come from?_

As Guillermo moved to stand, offering an apology that he had to get home before his shift started, he brought the mug to his lips once more, before tilting it at such an angle the contents _should_ have spilt down his chin. As it were, the mug was remarkably empty as he set it in the middle of the table. I rose to meet him, unable to hide the bewilderment as I shamefully scrutinised the mug, then met his gaze to see the same puzzlement shimmering back.

Without really thinking, and somewhat eager to diminish the suddenly tense atmosphere I had undoubtedly created, I leaned in and hugged him.

Guillermo's reaction was nothing to my own. I felt ice immediately replace the blood in my body as my feet rooted firmly and stubbornly to the ground and my heart most definitely skipped several beats. This was a normal goodbye, for me at least, to people I was friends with and as I rarely went out for coffee with anyone I did not consider to me more than an acquaintance; it was an instinctive and natural response to a farewell. If his response was anything to go by, this was anything _but_ normal for him; despite only using one arm, I still felt the stoic, almost rigor mortis appeal in his stature. The coldness was something else, too; he was chilly, somewhat like touching the inside of a fridge. Biting my lower lip harder than I had intended, I swallowed nervously and stepped back.

"Thank you for coming." I spluttered semi-nervously, the sheer act of keeping my eyes perfectly level with his own a painful ordeal in itself.

Though it took him a moment, Guillermo quickly straightened himself and smiled, though it did not quite reach his eyes.

As soon as he left, I covered my face with my hands.

 _What are you doing, child?_

* * *

Whilst the knocks on my door were most certainly startling, it was little compared to the face of the visitor once it opened. Mick, usually tallied with immeasurable posture, held himself loosely, his hair wild and unkempt and his eyes showing every single year of his age. Over one shoulder slung a backpack, poorly zipped, and his clothes in general looked more than a little scruffy.

Although propriety stated that I should invite him in, I was unable to do little more than blink. For a few moments this seemed to suit him just fine, until something clicked in my mind and I realised just what had quite probably just happened. "Are you okay?"

 _Of course, he bloody isn't, Robin! You know why he's here._

Before I could choke out an unintelligible, garbled response, Mick shook himself out of his stupor. "I'm sorry to barge in on you, but I don't have my car; could you give me a lift somewhere?" I knew I could not ask what had happened to his car in such a moment, but I was slightly concerned with my inability to remember. If my assumption was correct, and judging by the frantic, sorry state of him I was, then he needed to reach Josef before parting ways to see Beth and Josh. To my knowledge he used his own car there and back, which made me wonder just where it was. Certain I would find out, and more concerned with the presence of a vampire paused nervously at the threshold, I brought myself back to reality with a decisive nod.

"Of course," I replied soundly, quickly shoving my feet in to some horrendously offensive pink fluffy slippers and grabbing my keys from the china bowl on the welcome table. I didn't ask why, nor did I spend an atrociously long time checking that I had turned all the appliances off – even if I had not used them. It had become a niggling habit, an exhausting and dangerous one, and only one I had taken up since that night at the hospital. I did not mention this to Mick, telling myself as we took to the lift that the key had definitely turned, and the handle refused to move downwards, and even though he started to speak again and offer a lacklustre thank you that I immediately saw right through, the niggling was still there.

Either way, Mick was visibly not in the mood for small talk; no sooner had we stepped outside the building did I lead him to the carpark, but not without missing the way he perked like a deer in headlights, frantically looking and flinching at the slightest of abnormal sounds. There was not really anything I could say, nor do that would offer even a veneer of comfort for the PI without disclosing information I should not have been privy to. In any case, it was strange seeing the illustrious Mick St. John in such a state; very rarely did he allow himself to be caught off guard, and when he did, it was only really evident he was panicking when he was alone. Still, the undeniable rush of being close to a vampire pathed way to the horrendous idea of sneaking glances as I drove. (If he had any comments as to the colour of my car, he kept them to himself – but then, perhaps that particular conversation may have broken the ice a little).

The drive was short, yet I had not missed how the entire time, though spent in silence, Mick was frantically texting on his phone. As I pulled in to an empty space, Mick seemed to remember I was there – yet again another peculiar demonstration from him that made me knit my eyebrows in confusion. Only hours earlier I had been spearheading a conversation with Guillermo about the circumstances surrounding my delightful trip to the county morgue, and now I was driving the vampire private investigator to a secluded space to meet yet _another_ vampire, one of whom had a strong penchant for disposing of irritable liabilities.

"Thank you, Robin. I'll make it up to you." He offered a smile, that quite like his morbid friend did not quite reach his eyes. I swallowed nervously, wondering what I was going to do now knowing precisely where he was headed and just whom was in danger this very second. The vague, slightly fuzzy memory of Julia tied up on a scrappy looking sofa tied my stomach up in knots.

Mick, however, was not quite done. "Could I possibly ask for one more favour?" With his phone now squashed firmly in the inside pocket of his jacket, his full attention was on me, and it felt startlingly different to when he was driving. Realising how utterly ridiculous I looked gripping the steering wheel whilst the engine was off, I tried to look as natural as possible holding them atop of my knees.

"Sure, it's the least I can do really." Goodness knows how many lifts he had given me lately, but it was still not enough for the unease to dissipate quickly enough in his presence.

Unperturbed, or perhaps still distracted by the imminent and prior conflict with Lee Jay, he carried on. "My friend – Josef – is about to deliver a car. Could you give him a lift back to his? It's more like him to call a cab, but he'll appreciate it."

I had stopped hearing everything but white noise after Mick said Josef. Somehow, though I had absolutely no _idea_ how, the shock did not register enough to elicit a bemused response from the PI. I nodded, hastily moistening my lips and chewing on the inside a little too harshly. "I think I remember where he lives."

 _Well, shit._

Mick most certainly did frown at that; no amount of impending vampire danger could take away the obvious implications from my words. I had realised them the moment they left my tongue, and I scrambled desperately to explain myself without coming across like a frenzied lunatic; something I was not sure I could accurately achieve. "Someone I met works for him and asked to be taken there." Calling Lilia a friend did not seem practical enough in the moment, and a part of me felt it would betray too much if I gave her that label no matter what our interactions were. There was every possibility that Mick knew who Lilia was, either by face or simply by understanding the female company that Josef kept was for the majority reserved for freshies. As a rule of thumb, from what I had gathered, freshies rarely held friendship circles outside the harem of blood-givers, and so it would look both problematic and unusual for the both of us. Not, I realised, that there was much hope of stopping that; I had taken her to a public event and she in turn was taking me to one of Josef's charity parties of sorts.

All at least appeared to be forgiven; Mick nodded and smiled as he climbed out the car. "Thank you again. If you don't mind just waiting here –" It appeared as if he wanted to say more, but thought better of it, and I heard the gradual approach of another vehicle. Saying goodbye with my own somewhat nervously forced smile, I made a point of picking at the bare threads on the hem of my shorts, and grimaced when my eyes happened upon the garish pink slippers resting on the pedals.

The two were talking this very moment, and despite not quite remembering what the conversation entailed I used the spare moments of quiet to determine just what I was going to fill the void of silence with when driving Josef home. A part of me bitterly resented the PI; why couldn't Josef just get a taxi home? Goodness knows he had enough money. Or maybe his own personal driver he undoubtedly had on speed dial?

I was working myself up over something I had very little control over, and for someone who lived alone, worked hard and relied so very little on others, having that control snatched away was indescribably hard. I did not want to sniff at challenges, but this was so much more than a simple quest; I felt sweat bead at my hairline and I frantically wiped it away. The idea of treating him like just another student was tempting but short-lived; Josef Kostan was the very last individual I could picture as a student and thus act the teacher with. The only other excuse was driving; though to them I should have been driving for a neat, comfortable year and therefore that should be deemed long enough to get used to driving on the other side of the road, but in my own, present reality I was not used to it at all. I still exercised intense concentration either way, but more so right now and with any luck he would pick up on that.

Not that there was anything he should be personally worried about; if anything drastic occurred, he would walk away without so much as a scratch.

The car door opened and closed with such fluidity I could not have blinked, and it was only with the distinct click of a seatbelt I rounded myself to stare in to the eyes of Josef Kostan. "Hi." I managed, and much to my surprise he seemed to smile, despite the obvious strain of circumstances. I was not foolish enough to think he was especially pleased to be in my car, but at least he was not being _outright_ disgusted by the idea.

Josef gave thanks in the quickest and shortest way, which I took as my cue to begin driving once he reiterated that I knew where to drop him. He was on his phone just as swiftly as Mick had been, which instantly made me think of just where the PI was right now.

"My employee mentioned something about a rather interesting evening." His phone was away, and I swallowed, eyes peeled on the road in front of me.

"Oh," I managed, my voice barely held together as the air seemed to grow ever thicker. Swallowing, I coughed slightly to clear my throat and tried again. "She's very friendly. I wasn't too sure about going, but Julia asked me to, and I felt bad saying no." _He can tell you're lying, Robin._ That only served to make things worse. I could not help but panic when I recalled their ability to hear heartbeats, owing to my tendency to overthink situations and exacerbate them in my mind. I couldn't be myself around Josef, so I had to put on a mask, but even that was lying, and thus created yet another vicious circle I found myself entangled in. "I don't know too many people here." I added for good measure.

Out of my peripheral vision I could see his eyes on me; I felt the weight of them even if I had not been consciously aware. "Then it would seem the event tomorrow evening would be the perfect place to start." I squirmed uncomfortably, somewhat aware of the way his lips curled slightly at the edges. He was playing, hotly aware of my discomfort and indisputably enthralled by it.

 _Why could you not have gotten your own God-damned car, Mick?!_

"I hope so." It appeared I was incapable of uttering sentences that invited a conversational response, and the pause at a set of traffic lights only made it worse. In a rather vain attempt to lighten the atmosphere that only I appeared to feel strangled by, I pushed myself a little harder to make a joke. "Perhaps understandably, perverse Professors and murderous assistants just don't make the cut for enjoyable company." The low chuckle that emitted from the usually reserved vampire eased the aforementioned tension. It was folly to think anything could obliterate it entirely; I was far too wired to ignore the fact that Josef was most likely sizing me up the entire time I drove, not to mention how Mick had quite probably told him everything about me – and Guillermo's contact could be none other than Kostan's very own 'maestro'.

I had never been more thankful for short journeys; I pulled up to the gates of his (at least, to me) intimidating home. "No need to drive through." He said, mimicking Mick's earlier move of pushing his phone away in to a hidden pocket. I was doing everything to hold myself together, fully intent on burying my head in to a pillow the very moment I got home and screaming myself hoarse – and it was working, too, until he took hold of my hand and lifted it to press a cold, icy kiss on top. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

Blinking rapidly, fully aware of the abysmal state my open-mouthed look gave, I did not have enough time to respond before he left and closed the door behind him. Hands shakily gripped the wheel, and the white knuckles did not abate until long after I had driven away; the complete scrambled mess of my brain soothed only slightly by the radio news announcement of Lee Jay Spaulding's death.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor claim to own any characters pertaining to the 2007-2008 TV series 'Moonlight'. All recognisable characters and texts belong to Ron Koslow and Trevor Munson.

 **Author's Note:** So many apologies, again. I can only promise to try not to take so long. I hope this makes up for the wait, though I definitely changed a lot of things from the original version of this party chapter when the fic was first posted ten years ago.

Reviews will be given characters in the Sims. Get Famous comes out this Friday! (And so does Pokémon, and also that happens to be the deadline of my next assignment. Dammit procrastination!)

* * *

The bar had been my first port of call the second I stepped foot inside Josef's flamboyantly lavish home. I knew without a drink in my hand to steady my nerves I would end up implicating myself somehow, be it with uncomfortably noticeable twitching close to any member of the undead or stumbling over some form of misinformation of which I had absolutely no doubt the irritable bloodsuckers would pick up on. Precisely the right amount of gin settled the nerves twisting and distorting their way around my stomach, enough to stop me fretting over where each of them were in regard to myself, and just how many steps it was from the nearest plausible exit.

To her credit Lilia was more or less my constant companion, which once again eased a little of my nervousness. She introduced – or at least tried to introduce – me to other girls she 'worked with', who looked me up and down with such little interest I had to double check I had not spilled something garish on my dress. The dress itself was hardly anything outlandish, but I realised with a thick feeling in my throat that I was being scrutinised not for being new, or encroaching in their territory, but for what I had chosen to present myself in. Grimacing, I took another gulp of gin, twisting myself to face a table that had been carefully adorned with the kind of party favours one would find at a health club.

I _had_ eaten, and I had no doubt that what I had consumed would have been scrutinised to a tee, but I found myself considerably unable to pay much care to those who would sooner nibble on a small, indiscernible cube of cheese. My head throbbed, and so I pinched the bridge of my nose, turning away from the loud conversations dominating the centre of the room that Lilia had deliberately drawn us to. She did not notice, for all her closeness to me – I think eventually my inability to hold a sensible conversation with any of the younger girls here was reason enough for her to distance a little, so she could enjoy the evening herself. I could not blame her – after all, I had never claimed to be great in social situations outside of a classroom and had yet to disclose the close quarters I had been in with Josef just the previous evening. Perhaps, I considered, bringing the rim of the glass to my lips, I never would.

"English?" I spun on my heel, grimacing as the rubber sole of my trainers scraped against the stone floor. Behind me, a six-foot blonde short haired male stood holding a wine glass half filled with a slimy red liquid. Tasting bile at the back of my throat, I quickly swallowed a short mouthful and straightened myself as much as my petite height (in comparison to the individual before me) would allow.

"Yes." I answered, trailing the last syllable. A shiver went up the back of my spine and rooted me involuntarily to the spot. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, urging me to run – yet I stayed, refusing to break his stare. Did they not say that about animals? Holding their gaze was more important than breaking it and running away? Vampires – _some_ vampires – were not entirely different.

In any case, he towered over me, and it took all my nerve and years of classroom experience not to back away. If I imagined him to be like one of my sixth form students, intimidatingly tall but with less authority, and me in charge, –

"Did Josef manage to entice you all the way from England?" The leer in his voice was positively coated in amusement. I straightened myself a little further, which was rather challenging in flat shoes. The only reason I elected to wear flat shoes anymore was because years of wearing heels on nights out ended in raw blisters and painful toes. Comfort most definitely hit the highest contributing factor to a fun evening. And, if I had learned anything from the book launch, I wanted to be able to run as far away as possible as quickly as possible.

I knew what he was getting at, of course, but I could hardly let him know this. Drawing in a breath, I replied, "I'm a teacher. I transferred out here last year."

The man raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing ever wider.

"I'm going to go and find my friend," I said, leaving without giving him the opportunity to reply. I could feel his eyes watching me as I left the designated safety zone of the human snack table, grimacing at my own inner monologues as I traversed through the crowd – decisively thinner in population than Lee Jay's book launch. Even after I had successfully made it from one side of the room to the other, I could still feel him watching me, so I headed towards the poolside area which, surprisingly, none of the scantily clad young females had indulged in. Some were dangling their feet in to the water, shoes tucked haphazardly beside them, and others were simply leaning against the brick wall adjacent to the glass sliding doors. I had hurriedly replaced my drink before coming out here, contributing my discomfort to the overbearing glare of who I assumed to be a rather unpleasantly hungry bloodsucker (there was no _way_ that had been red wine). There had been so many different flavours of gin I had just gone for the one that _sounded_ the most interesting, and as I found my own spot against the alarmingly immaculate brickwork, I sipped gingerly, unfortunately entirely aware that most of their eyes tended to frequent back to me between their enclosed group conversations.

 _People know I'm here_ , I thought to myself, but even that mild reassurance did not abate the niggling warning bells echoing distantly in the back of my mind. I had called Mum earlier, lying through my teeth as I reassured her I had been nowhere near the incident in question at the college, and that no, Christian had never touched me and no, I had not been near the study group. Nor had I attended the book launch or been anywhere _near_ Lee Jay Spaulding. Even if I had told her the truth on that one, I would not have disclosed about the copy of his biography; as much as the hype died down and no-one _really_ dwelled on the obvious, I felt oddly protective over ensuring the reach of the old photograph attached to one of the pages did not stretch too far.

After she had delivered her endearing speech of being overly concerned about her only daughter, I assured her I was not a reclusive hermit, that I had made friends and that I was, in fact, out this very evening. It all still felt a little false, however, trying to talk to someone who was in every way my mother, but also who wasn't. She was not _my_ mother – and in the same breath, she was. The thought had gone around in circles so many times in my head I struggled to keep level whilst doing so, and I shuddered involuntarily. I wanted to talk to her, and I felt a rush of warmth and familiarity when doing so, but it was tinted horribly with guilt, like a nasty aftertaste that lingered on the back of the tongue no matter how many times you swilled your mouth out. That guilt quickly became submerged with sadness; going to work, working on autopilot, it all made me feel incredibly detached from my body, like I was watching it from a television screen – which seemed painfully ironic, and the chuckle that broke out from my lips earned me a few strange stares.

 _I'm here,_ I told myself, taking another sip, _that is what's happening, and nothing right now can change it._

"There you are!" Lilia appeared beside me, devoid of the glass she had been cradling for most of the event thus far.

"I'm just being nosy," I smiled.

"Come on, there's a few people I want you to meet!" Before I could say no, Lilia pulled me indoors and immediately beelined towards a small group of people nestled by the stairway. For the most part, individuals were milling about – a few of the younger looking girls were earning an audience by dancing, after which I had no doubt they would be on someone's particular menu. I went through the motions of introducing myself (or, in this instance, Lilia handling the introductions), and engaging in moreover polite conversation, placating Lilia's thirst for social gatherings more than my own. I did _enjoy_ events, but here it was different; if I relaxed, even for a second, something terrible could happen, and I had made enough errors that drew unwarranted attention in my direction for the time being – ideally enough full stop.

Only briefly had I seen our host, holding himself well enough between the masses of individuals, whoever they actually were. I could not prove it, not if I were paid all the money in his bank account, but I just _knew_ he was keeping tabs on me. As a vampire it would hardly be difficult to sniff out one scent in easily a hundred, and I wondered perhaps selfishly when it was an acceptable time to depart from a party without being considered rude or ungrateful. The last thing I needed was for people to think I was unfalteringly belligerent; I would much rather that they ignore me altogether.

Credit where credit was due – as Lilia hurriedly introduced me to a stunning brunette who looked incredibly familiar in a deep blue dress, she never once stopped to glance in my direction and helpfully prompt me to interject. There was that guilt again, flaring up as I began another round of explanations over my career path and stringently trying to stick to the path of lies regarding _why_ I had moved in the first place. I was getting attached to a girl who, in my mind, was not _quite_ real. Yet the heat from her fingertips on my arm as she prompted me felt clearer than anything, and I swallowed back another bout of nervousness. I could feel the tension rising in my face, and no matter how many times I wriggled my toes the tingling persisted.

"I haven't really been to anything like this before," I found myself saying, earning a reproving look from the brunette – Eleanor, I believe she said.

"So," another asked – a tall, slender auburn-haired girl with a soft, creamy complexion and a heart shaped face. I did not recall her name, if she had even given one. "You're new blood?"

Slick green must have been visible in my face, because everyone acted rather suddenly. Josef was beside us in an instant, hand gripping in the crook of the auburn girl's elbow and steering her away. Eleanor and Lilia looked between them, then back at me, and I forcibly closed my mouth. It was, however, impossible to hide the thundering in my chest and the white-knuckled grip threatening to smash the glass I held to pieces. Guilt rose in my chest. I knew why Josef had whisked her away, but the look of concern passing between the two girls in front of me told me a different story – perhaps one I had been blissfully ignorant of until that moment.

"I need some fresh air," what I had intended to come out as a confident statement, instead fell from my lips in a garbled mess, though I did not stop to acknowledge their responses. That also meant I was not paying attention to where I was going; no sooner had I found my previous spot against the immaculate wall outside did I crash headlong in to a regretfully familiar sight: the blonde vampire, this time without his glass full of nutritious blood for good measure.

"In a hurry?" The smirk I had seen before held a different kind of threat now. There was a predatory hunger behind his eyes, a leer that made me feel even smaller than I already was. Stomach churning, I tried and failed to raise my height by straightening, pushing my shoulders back and holding my head high. None of these mattered, of course; my knees were threatening to buckle, and the world around me, despite being outside, felt suffocating and small, as if walls were closing in rapidly around the two of us. Behind us, nobody was paying any attention; we had become momentarily invisible, and I was trapped, and unless I thought quickly on my feet I knew from the thickness of the atmosphere I was most certainly headed for trouble.

"No," I responded, aiming to push past him towards a table set at the far end of the pool with jugs of water, but as soon as I did he gripped my elbow in precisely the same fashion Josef had with the other girl. This time, I could _feel_ the intense pressure of his fingers, nails digging violently in to the skin. Wincing, I whirled to face him. "Let me go before I snap your hand off at the wrist." I had never before _needed_ to use such a threat, and indeed I knew full well I would never have been able to carry it out. I had taken a few sparse self-defence courses at the gym years ago just before I had turned eighteen, but nothing heavy handed. For whatever reason, the instructor had left out the key components of defending yourself against vampires.

The words, of course, did precisely what I knew they would do, rather than what I wanted them to – he grinned wider, baring pearly white teeth, lips stretching back to reveal delicately pointed edges. "Feisty… but you know there are rules here." His other hand quickly swung to grab my free arm, applying equal amounts of pressure to the underside of the skin. "If you're not marked, you're free and _obligated_ to give…" He trailed off, eyes climbing up and down, tongue moistening his lips. I shuddered, tugging myself away but the grip was too tight to even move an inch.

"I'm _not_ free, thank you very much." Sod it, no _way_ was I going to be some hormonal vampire's pudding. At that precise moment I could not have cared less about hiding what I knew. Damned be the consequences, I refused to end up in a morgue again, and I refused to be intimidated.

The problem with thinking like this, of course, was that one-hundred percent of the time in this precise situation it really did not matter in the slightest. Even if I willed it to happen, spat out a million and one threats with the intention of causing the offender to back down, I knew deep down that he wouldn't, and that my only hope was to cause enough of a commotion to get someone else to intervene. I knew that the vampires were fast, but were they fast enough? I could open my mouth to scream and he could have snapped my neck in half before anyone even heard it.

Heart pumping wildly, I looked around again, but once more no-one was paying any attention, and no-one caught my desperate silent plea for help. Too many hearts racing, too much heightened conversation – and he knew it.

I felt myself being pulled towards him, but from then on everything moved in slow motion. My eyes never left his face, even as he dipped his head towards my bare neck. In one single, swift, instinctive motion, I raised my knee clean between his legs, shoving myself backwards as I did. Everything blurred in to silence. Instead of by arm, I was yanked backwards by my hair, and subsequently the combination of my own reflexes and his horror at being fought back against resulted in me falling backwards.

As I hit the water, my head smacked hard against the edge, swallowing me in darkness.

* * *

Even before I opened my eyes, I knew I wasn't home.

Unlike before, the return of my senses this time was gradual, which in a way helped with the realisation that it was not all just some weird, horrible, invigorating dream. (No matter which way I looked at it, at the dangers and the rush of adrenaline, it was impossible to view it as a nightmare). Not that it mattered, of course; I was still _here_ , wherever _here_ was at this precise moment in time.

As I flexed my toes, I noticed the cool comforting brush of wool. Fingers brushed against a softer, less grainy texture beneath me, and when I finally did open my eyes, I was greeted with an immaculate, pure white ceiling, specks of sunlight breaking through closed curtains, and a comforting silence broken only by a hushed whisper beside me.

"She's awake!" Lilia was sat in a chair beside the bed, leaned over, eyes wide and smudged makeup gathering underneath them. Though I could have guessed, I did not really have the energy to care just who she was talking to; in that moment, I was simply grateful to have woken up at all, no matter what universe that may be. "Hey, are you okay?"

I nodded, wincing as the pressure caused a horrendous rush of pain across my neck and over my temple. "I'm breathing," I exhaled, the half-hearted attempt at a joke eliciting a small breathless laugh from my friend. I did not know when she had suddenly become that, but the mere sight of her presence here had subconsciously decided it for me.

"You hit your head pretty hard, but there wasn't much blood; they got you out fairly quickly after –"

I did not need to ask who 'they' were, nor did I press her to continue after the hesitation paused her flurry of words. She sounded exhausted, concern tinged with relief. "I promise I barely had anything to drink." It was difficult to talk; what I wanted to do, what I _intended_ , was to sit up and assess my situation, to take stock of my surroundings and ascertain what I needed to do to get out of here and back home. I wanted to close my eyes and rest until I could catalogue what had happened, as the edges of each memory were blurred and fuzzy. "What happened to that man?" The words were out before I could stop them. My heart was beating furiously, and panic-stricken I shifted, eyes darting to every corner of the room I could see, as if I expected him to be there, expecting him to jump out.

"You won't have to worry about him." That voice, I realised, ignoring the lead weight that fell in the pit of my stomach – that voice could only belong to one person. Josef had moved to the foot of the bed, Lilia immediately sitting back. Using what little energy I could muster, I pushed myself up on my elbows and positioned my back to rest against the headboard. I had no idea what I looked like, but what became abhorrently clear as the covers slipped down with my movement was that I was _not_ wearing my dress; the item in question was slung over a chair by the window, seemingly dry, but what I wore amounted to little other than a button-up shirt and my underwear.

"I hope you did not do this." My cheeks flushed, words holding barely any weight of disdain and utterly failing to highlight my objection.

"I may be many things," Josef replied, arching an eyebrow. "But I am not, despite what some may say, a pervert." He nodded towards Lilia, and I found that I still hotly objected to either of them undressing me. As if having Guillermo see every part of my body without my knowledge was not bad enough, this was even worse.

Balking at my rudeness, no matter what the situation, I swallowed, grimacing again. "Thank you. I didn't mean to cause a disturbance."

"On the contrary, it was hardly you that did so. The problem has been dealt with, and when you are fully recovered, there are a few things that need discussing before you can leave."

Somewhere between his words, that were, regardless of his apparent hospitality, most certainly a warning, Lilia had removed herself from the room. Was that a requirement of freshies, or a skill they picked up on along the way? Knowing where and when to disappear without being told, and to do so as quickly and quietly as possible. I felt a hot rush of indignation at being told what to do – I was twenty-five, fiercely independent, and I did not want to resort back to being a teenager under a parent's thumb. "I have to go to work, I can't just not show up."

"If it were not for Mick vouching for your discretion, I would have dealt with this differently." He paused only to walk to the empty space beside me. Each footstep caused my heart to skip a beat, which I knew he noticed despite giving absolutely no indication of this fact. "Lilia will be back momentarily with some things, but you are to stay here and rest until I say so." My chest rose and fell heavily as he leaned forwards, breath cool against my cheeks. _Why did they do that? Why was I not arguing back?_ "When you are better, which should take no longer than a few days, we will talk again. Attempting to leave right now would be inadvisable." He left before I had a chance to really digest what he said, but when I did, I sank back in to the pillows. The throbbing behind my eyes barely softened as I shut out the world, though the quiet aided a little, where it not for the consistent throbbing of my heart permeating the silence.

 _What have I done?_


End file.
